Daddy Dearest
by Neuronerd
Summary: Splinter timeline post "Out of the Darkness" and "Evolution Revolution." Sylar made one bad decision and it's his baby now- literally. He's not so sure he has the right stuff to make Father of the Year, but he'll get a little help from his friends.
1. In the Begining

**A/N: Hello again. I really wanted to take a break from this, but this idea has been gnawing at my brains so…sigh…back to the salt mines. This isn't exactly a sequel to the slaveverse series I have set up with "Out of the Darkness" and "Evolution Revolution." Rather, it is more like a splinter timeline that does refer to the previous stories, but will not be a part of official events should I decide to write another, actual sequel. Got it? Good. **

**The first chapter is a little smutty, but I didn't get too graphic. If such a thing makes you uneasy or if you aren't sure how babies are made, you might want to skim or wait for chapter 2. Just sayin'. **

**Now enjoy and feel free to throw glitter or bricks via reviews, whichever you prefer! **

**Chapter 1- In the Beginning**

_Age: 6 months_

It was years after the revolution and the world had barely changed, not that Sylar was even remotely surprised by that fact. His inner pessimism was too keen to allow him to believe any different, but it wasn't like all of their efforts were entirely in vain. Things could have been much worse indeed and as he stood looking down at the small basket that had been dropped in front of his door, he felt the entire universe collapse on him. His world had radically changed in one moment and he wasn't sure it was for the better.

It all started approximately a year and a half before when he received an unexpected visit by the most unlikely of people. He was immediately suspicious when he opened the door to the remote little cabin Peter kept him cooped up in and noted some very familiar eyes and blonde hair. His initial assumption was that she was there to kill him since no one ever bothered hunting him down for tea, but her relaxed and friendly smile indicated otherwise. He had spared her life when the tables were turned, so she wouldn't try to take his- if that were even possible.

"Stephanie." He greeted cautiously, his dark eyes darting from her to the woods beyond, no doubt looking for snipers hidden in the dense foliage.

"There's no one out there." She reassured him with a small chuckle. "Still paranoid I see."

He scoffed at the backhanded comment. "Can you blame me?" After all that he had experienced both before and during the war, mistrust had become hardwired for him and she was no exception.

"Newsflash. The war's over." She replied sarcastically. She was well aware that although they were both specials, they were on very different sides of the fence during the toughest days of the conflict. While she never would have thought that her job was easy, it was a great deal easier than his was.

Maybe for her the war was over, but even though the violently intrusive nightmares and flashbacks he experienced had subsided somewhat in the intervening years he was still left with an empty sense of unease bordering on torturous longing. Perhaps his self-imposed isolation had gone on long enough for people to forget who he was, but he didn't think it wise to tempt fate just yet. He didn't think it was possible, but he missed the general chaos of his home city of New York, the impersonal yet teeming flow of millions that felt like he was a part of something even though he didn't really participate in anything. He missed being around people. Beautiful people. "Why are you here?" He asked a little irritated. "How did you find me?" Her very presence only made the acute loneliness more tangible and he didn't appreciate it one bit.

"Do you always treat your guests this way?" She inquired with a sly smile. "Did I catch you at a bad time?" It was a little rude of her to taunt him as she was, but she knew good and well the only thing he was busy with amounted to watching paint dry. He narrowed his eyes a little and sarcastically gestured for her to come in. She accepted his offer, but made a mental note to tread carefully because no one in the woods would hear her scream if she pushed him too far. Extreme isolation could have only served to make him more feral than he was to begin with. "I found you through some mutual channels." She informed him as she shrugged off her coat. "I do still work for the government you know. Chimera has a pretty long reach and a lot of people who still know of your existence working in the program. It took a little work and some manipulation, but I got the information I wanted."

She seemed overtly pleased with herself, but he certainly wasn't. There were only a handful of people who knew of his location, so that made the list of possible narcs very short, but aside from that, the back of his head tingled. He folded his arms across his chest and gave her a stern look. "I thought we established the fact that I know when you're lying. Do you want to try again without wasting my time or insulting my intelligence, or should I walk you to the door and slam it in your face?" He asked tersely.

"Ok." She sighed, obviously put on notice that he didn't appreciate her brand of humor. "I did find you through mutual acquaintances, but it was only after he put me through the 3rd degree."

"He?" Sylar prompted curiously.

"Peter." She nodded with a small smile. "I didn't think he had it in him, but he didn't exactly make it easy."

Sylar chuckled to himself. Peter certainly could be surprisingly badass when he wanted to be- especially when it came to protecting others. He just never really considered himself to be in Peter's range of influence either because of their prior history or because he assumed Peter thought he was well able to defend himself without his help. But of everyone he had interacted with, Peter was the only one who talked to him and checked in on a semi-regular basis, so in some ways it really wasn't surprising that he would come to his defense by interrogating the interrogator. Peter would have no doubt read her mind every step of the way and played her like a cheap violin all the while wearing his charming boy next door smile. He just wished he could have seen the exchange, but she must have passed muster because he apparently relented. "That answers the first question." He granted. "Now why are you here?"

"Chimera does have a lot of specials working for it, but I thought we could use one more." She admitted. "Tell me you haven't been bored out of your mind out here all by yourself."

"You came to offer me a job?" He laughed incredulously. Yes, he definitely was bored, but he wasn't sure that working in such a public capacity was in his best interest.

"A person of your…" she paused to look him up and down a little too warmly, "unique talents would be a great asset to the program. What you need is something to occupy your time, get you back in the game. You couldn't possibly be happy making a life for yourself in a rocking chair whittling or whatever you've been doing with yourself out here."

"So what then? You want me to bag and tag?" He smirked and shook his head in disbelief. "I can't imagine you need a PR person. Besides, what job could I be better suited for than to hunt and capture? That's what my 'unique' talents are best used for." He let his arms fall to his sides as he brushed past her on his way to the kitchen. "I had that job for a time. Ask Bennet how that turned out."

"Let's see if you really do have better taste." She took the liberty of following and pouring herself a glass of wine just as he had done at her house while he watched, at least a little amused by her audacity. She poured one for him too, but he declined. He just wasn't in the mood. "More for me, then." She shrugged after she took a gulp. "Anyway, you would be good at it, but that's not what we had in mind. I know you have been trying to walk the straight and narrow since the war. How's that going, by the way?" She giggled.

He noticed that her cheeks were already flushed. Either she was an incredibly cheap date, she was already nearly drunk when she came to steady her nerves, or perhaps she was taking some kind of medication that accelerated the wine's effects, but no matter the cause he felt compelled to intervene before something bad happened. He slowly reached out and calmly moved the glass out of her reach. Thankfully she didn't seem to notice. "I haven't killed anyone if that's what you were wondering." He hadn't although it was a titanic struggle.

"Not even me." She smiled. "Why did you let me live anyway?" She recoiled a bit at her own unfiltered conscious stream of thought, but she always did wonder why he left her house without so much as giving her a paper cut. That wasn't the feared serial killer she read about. But now that the cat was out of the bag, she didn't see any reason in apologizing for it.

"I had my reasons." He answered quietly, leaning across the island toward her. "Didn't anyone tell you it isn't polite to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

Her eyes softened and she smiled faintly as she stared at his lusciously full lips, only inches from hers. "What if I kiss one?" She whispered.

He arched his eyebrow in confusion. Surely she wasn't serious, but she certainly wasn't being rational and he held his ground, almost daring her to- betting that she would sober up fast once the realization of what she implied sunk in. Either she didn't stop to think about it or didn't care, but she closed the gap and smashed her mouth against his a little clumsily, causing him to inhale sharply and pull back just a bit, but she was persistent. She released him and he gave her a small, patient sigh. "I'm going to have the courtesy to pretend that didn't happen." He informed her.

"You have changed." She laughed. "But I've always kind of had this fantasy…"

He narrowed his dark eyes and scoffed. "No." He shook his head. "I don't want to be a part of your secret fetish, and I certainly don't want to hear about it." That's what he said, but truthfully, he was only a man and even though he knew it was a little shady of him, he did find himself questioning the legality of allowing nature to take its course. Did Peter know about the intentions she harbored when he sent her his way? Was she really capable of consent in her mildly drunken stupor? Would she have found him as attractive if she wasn't? He was trying to be a better person, he really was trying, but his biological urges were clouding his judgment and he couldn't think straight…

"Really?" She breathed lightly into his ear, nearly crawling onto the island on all fours. She brushed her lips gently down the side of his neck, feeling his throbbing pulse and observed, "You certainly seem interested. Your heart is pounding away. Tick-tock."

He closed his eyes tight and fought the swoon of pleasure that swept over him at the sensation. It had been so long since anyone had thought of him in that way- at least without doing so with ill intent- that he found himself unable to move from his position. He seemed glued to the island even as she ran her hand through his hair and down the side of his face while she kissed the small part of his collarbone that peeked out from his button-up shirt. He swallowed hard and sighed, "I…" He wanted to say no because it was the right thing to do, but he didn't want her to stop- not really. His body craved the attention almost as desperately as it did oxygen and although he had no real feelings for her, he didn't need to. What he wanted was purely physical- absolutely meaningless but as necessary as life itself.

When he made no further effort to protest, she took his heavy breathing as unspoken consent. She climbed onto the counter and wrapped her legs around his waist while stealing another deep kiss from his soft lips. He relented and leaned into her, forcing a gasp from both. The idea that it was unusual for them to have sex with the very people they intended to kill was pushed to the far recesses of their minds as each became lost in the moment. She didn't know if it was Stockholm Syndrome or what, but over the course of her assignment she had ceased seeing Sylar as a target and started seeing him as a person- albeit a dangerous one- but the sense of peril combined with his dark features made him nearly irresistible. She had no fairy tale illusions of marrying him and living happily ever after in the suburbs, but she did want to experience him on a very intimate level and it looked as though it was going to be easier than she thought. Sometimes she loved her job. At the very least, Noah would be pleased.

Something in his mind advised him to be careful, to be suspicious, but other parts of him were screaming louder for attention and he disregarded the warnings. His inner thighs and groin burned with a fiery intensity that all but ensured a swift ending if he didn't slow down and pace himself. Even when he was Sylar the manipulative killer, he prided himself on being a generous and considerate lover, always careful to please his partner as well as himself. It only seemed fair to give his victims a nice ride before taking what he wanted, but now that he was trying to go straight it seemed equally important to be a gentleman for chivalry's sake. It was with this in mind that he used his telekinesis to lift and turn his partner so she was laying lengthwise on the island and he pushed up her knee length black skirt. He paused when he noticed her black stockings held by a garter belt and he smiled lightly. It was almost as though she had planned on the day's events, but he didn't give it any further thought and concentrated his efforts on kissing his way up her inner thigh.

She shivered in anticipation with every agonizing inch with which he ever so slowly progressed- and she knew that he was purposely taking his sweet time by the sly smirk that impressed itself on her flushed skin. Even when he finally reached his destination and she arched into him, he teased her hungry flesh with his hot breath and more kisses around her panty line until she growled in frustration, gripping the edges of the counter. "For god's sake!" She cried desperately. She felt a little puff of air as he chuckled to himself before getting down to business with a surprisingly talented tongue that almost sent her over the edge far faster than she wanted to go. While she still had a shred of self control, she grabbed his shirt to pull him up.

He deftly slipped out of it and climbed very catlike on top of her in the very limited space that he had. While it might have been a challenge for an ordinary guy, he was no ordinary man and he used his telekinesis to lightly levitate himself so as not to crush her with his body weight or make an unplanned and ungraceful exit to the floor if he lost his precarious balance. Maintaining just the right distance above her took some degree of concentration, but he found it helpful so things wouldn't end too soon for either of them if he divided his attention. He paused briefly to look into her eyes one last time just to be sure that he wasn't about to go too far down a wrong road, but she grabbed the back of his head and forced it down into a torridly passionate kiss. Some people were put off by such things, but she obviously didn't mind that his mouth had just been elsewhere. With her free hand, she unbuttoned his strained pants to free him and he groaned lightly at the way her hand brushed along the length of his erection. He felt dizzy and slightly disconnected, similar to the way he felt on the Vicodin only much, much better.

She could tell by the dazed look in his beautifully dark eyes that he was as desperate as she was and she stroked him slowly and kissed his neck until she felt him tense up and back away slightly. He too had his limits and like her, he was dangerously close. Although she felt as though she couldn't take the anticipation anymore, she patiently waited while he unbuttoned her blouse and pushed aside her lacy bra to massage, lick, and gently nip at her breasts. She involuntarily bucked up against him, every part of her throbbing. When he finally did make his move, it was everything she thought it would be. She moaned with pleasure as he filled her, his hips moving slowly, deeply, and rhythmically. She gripped his rear and pulled him in closer still and enjoyed the feeling of his muscles working hard to please her.

He was a little surprised that she grabbed him as she did, but found it encouraging and forced himself to move slowly in order to prolong the process and let the tension build as much for himself as for her. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the intensely warm and tight sensation that surrounded him and the slightly painful yet strangely erotic feeling of her fingernails dragging down the length of his back. Her moans were music to his ears and he found that he could control her quite easily with subtle changes in speed or positioning. Total control over another was something he hadn't felt in awhile and it reminded him of why he loved the hunt. It wasn't the killing he relished- it was all of the moments that led up to it: the teasing, the manipulation, being the one who decided how it ultimately ended. Subconsciously or not, he found himself going harder and faster as her sighs and whimpers became louder and more urgent.

She shuddered and clutched at his back as her innermost regions burst into a warm glow of rippling spasms, each seemingly more powerful than the last. Her reaction broke his careful concentration. The rhythmic constriction of her around him sent him over the edge and he had a temporary out of body experience of his own. At last they lay in a tangled heap panting, bodies slick with sweat and flushed with spent passion- each too reluctant to break the pleasant buzz that made their limbs weak and heavy. There were no soft and gentle kisses that lovers lavish on one another for a job well done because they were not in love. The situation was transient and they both knew it, yet neither regretted it…until the moment he opened his door and found a basket at his doorstep.

A set of very dark eyes peered at him from under the soft pink blanket and he instantly knew the child was his. He didn't need to read the note that had been tied to the handle with a ribbon to confirm his suspicions. Something very primal within him instantly knew that he was the father and he now had a child. Maybe it was the shape or color of the eyes that was like looking into a mirror, but there was no denying it no matter how much he wanted to. All that was left to do was panic and call for backup. There was only one person on the face of the earth that he could trust with something as monumental as this, and at least partly to blame for the situation in the first place.

Sylar paced the floor of his apartment while the baby watched him and whimpered with a worried look on its face. He didn't read the note or even attempt to pick the baby up other than to bring the basket in. He wasn't even sure it was a girl, although the pink blanket was a clue. His mind raced and he found himself feeling frightened and a little angry. Why had Stephanie dumped the baby on his doorstep to find? How long had it been out in the hallway, just waiting for someone to find it? He knew nothing about babies or being a parent. How in the hell was he going to take care of it? Should he even attempt to or would it be better to hand it over for adoption- to a family who could take care of it the way it needed and deserved?

Peter knocked on the door and flinched when Sylar all but ripped it open with a look of fear that he had never seen on his face before. He wanted to laugh because it was so uncharacteristic of the former killer, but once the element of shock wore off, he became worried. "Is everything ok?" He asked tentatively. "Your message seemed a little…I dunno…apocalyptic." Just inside the door he heard a quiet cry and he tilted his head in confusion. "Did you get a cat?"

"Worse." Sylar lamented, glancing over his shoulder. "Something far more demanding."

Peter and Sylar stood shoulder to shoulder looking down at the increasingly unhappy bundle in the basket as it fussed and kicked. Sylar was anxious, but Peter was dumbfounded. "Is she a stray?" He asked half jokingly. "Where the hell did you get her?"

Sylar glanced at him humorlessly. "I made it."

His partner looked back to the baby and noted the familiar eyes. "Congratulations." He said half-heartedly. He now understood why Sylar's message seemed so dire. He must have been scared shitless to see a part of him in the real world that he was now responsible for. "That why you called me over?"

"I don't know what to do, Peter." He confessed as he anxiously twitched his fingers. "She's been crying off and on for an hour and I was hoping maybe you could check her out- make sure she's ok. I don't know where she's been or how long she was out there and…"

"Alright, man." He gestured for him to stop while he kneeled down beside the baby. "Let's have a look." Peter had never seen Sylar so close to a panic attack in his life. Not the times he was mercilessly tortured, not when he was completely powerless, not even as he faced his own death- he did it all with a certain measure of calm determination, but this development had completely thrown him for a loop and he didn't have the first clue on how to cope. He started by opening the note attached to the basket while Sylar continued to pace, keeping a cautious eye on him like he was diffusing a bomb.

"What does it say?"

He sighed because he didn't want to add to Sylar's misery. It was bad enough to find out he was a father out of the blue, but he wasn't sure how he would react to why. There really was no other way but to be honest and try to deal with the aftermath as it happened. "I'm assuming you know who the mother is? Stephanie?"

"Yes." Sylar hissed in agitation. "It's not like I make money on the side as a gigolo, Peter. Jesus Christ." He didn't mean to be so short with him, it was an honest question but his nerves were already frayed and he didn't have the patience for stupid questions.

Thankfully, Peter was not the kind to take such things personally and he let it slide. He understood that Sylar was under a lot of stress. "It says that she wasn't going to tell you about her because she knew that your lifestyle wasn't really conducive to having a kid and she was pretty sure you didn't want her anyway. She wouldn't have done this except she has no family left and no other options. She was diagnosed with bone cancer and chemo hasn't helped. It progressed much more rapidly than the doctors thought and she was told she only had a few months to live. It wasn't enough time to plan her own funeral and a future for your daughter. She doesn't want you to feel sorry for her or try to look for her because she's not going to wait for the end to come."

Sylar paused and his demeanor grew dark. "What the hell does that mean?"

Peter refolded the note and softly replied, "She's probably going to commit suicide, Sylar. It's not uncommon for terminally ill people to want to avoid the pain or a prolonged death."

Sylar ran his hands through his dark hair and sighed. He was no moralist. He couldn't condemn her choice and in a way he understood it because he himself once found his inner pain so unbearable that he would have welcomed death had he succeeded in hanging himself, but it was the finality of it that bothered him. He had no say in the matter, his opinion or perspective was automatically discounted and it saddened him. He never really loved her in any conventional way. The only thing they shared was a twisted history and a brief period of lust- that was all. But given the chance he may have been able to help her in some way. He could have found someone with an ability that could have helped, but she didn't even give him the opportunity. He didn't love her at all, but he would have done it for the sake of the small child that was now abandoned and would never know her mother. It was as though his own start in life was being repeated with the girl in the basket and it weighed heavily on him.

Peter turned his attention back to the baby and gently picked her up. "Let's have a looky-loo at you." He cooed in a ridiculous voice. Sylar rolled his eyes, but the baby found it amusing and she broke out into a wide smile. He continued to make goofy noises and funny faces while he examined her for any sign of trauma or malnutrition, all the while making her squeal with laugher as Sylar looked on in amazement. "She looks good." He reported with a tight nod. "I'd say she's pretty healthy." He stood up and held the girl out to Sylar with a sly grin when he glanced at her like she was a live snake. "Babies like to be held, Sylar. It makes them feel safe." When he still hadn't moved toward her, he reminded him, "Come on, she's your daughter. You have to get used to it sometime."

He still seemed skeptical as the baby began to kick her little legs in midair. He could see her face start to scrunch up and he knew the crying would soon commence. "She doesn't like me."

"She doesn't know you, but she's getting angry because she doesn't like being held like this. Now get over here and take her." Peter demanded.

"I don't want to hurt her." Sylar feebly admitted. It seemed like a weak defense, but it was true. He had hurt a lot of people in his lifetime, but he didn't want to be responsible for harming an infant because he held her too tight or the wrong way. All the others were well planned demises, but that would just be sheer idiocy and incompetence on his part.

Peter sighed patiently as the baby began wailing. "She's not made of glass, Sylar. You have to come hold her. It's the only way she's going to stop crying." Sylar apprehensively approached the red faced little being he helped create and reluctantly lifted her out of his grasp. "Good." He encouraged him. "Now put one arm under her bottom and lay her against your chest with her head on your shoulder. Put your other hand on her back to support her and maybe give her a few pats."

He followed Peter's instructions carefully, making sure he held onto her tiny body tightly and in just the right position. Her head rested on his shoulder facing him and in that position, she was free to deafen him with her persistent cries. It was not only upsetting, it was irritating. So much so, he felt the need to point out the obvious. "It's not working." He growled.

"She'll settle down." Peter promised with a smug grin. "Try bouncing a little or twisting from side to side. Babies like repetitive movement."

"I don't." He sneered. But it was clear that if he was going to retain any measure of his hearing or sanity, his own preferences had to be thrown out the window in favor of her whims. He lightly bounced in place and almost immediately, her protests became less vigorous. He hated it that Peter was right and he felt ridiculous bouncing up and down like a 6 foot pogo stick, but he did enjoy the results even if she was still putting up something of a fight.

"See, she likes you." Peter smiled as he dug through the basket to find a stash of formula, diapers, a bottle, and a few outfits- a baby starter kit of sorts. "She will respond to you better if she knows you are her primary caregiver. Hold her, talk to her, and let her sleep on you for a little while."

"What?" He asked distressed. "Why?" It sounded a little too involved and he just wasn't ready for that.

"It's very primal, but it works. When she naps, lay her on your chest so she can hear your heartbeat and get used to your scent. She'll feel warm and secure and I promise she'll stop crying faster when you pick her up."

"I'll pass." He grumbled. "It's not like I'm keeping her."

Peter gave him a small nonjudgmental nod. It was asking a lot of him to be a father when he was completely unprepared and he never had that level of responsibility before, so it probably did seem overwhelming. If that were the case, he didn't consider it at all selfish of Sylar to simply wave the white flag and admit he wasn't ready so he could give her to someone who was. In the end, it was a sign that he really did care about her welfare and it was an act of love of the greatest proportion. But he also knew of the future that Sylar himself had never seen and it led him to believe that although it would be difficult, he could be an excellent father- the very person Maria wished he could become. "Well, you have a few days worth of supplies. Her birth certificate and vaccination records are also in the envelope. If you decide to give her up, you can take her to any hospital, police, or fire station and they won't ask any questions." Sylar nodded, but he looked miserable. Peter scanned his thoughts and frowned slightly. Sylar didn't want to take care of a baby, but he didn't want to abandon her either. He still felt the scar of being left behind as a child and he didn't want to inflict that on his own progeny, but at the same time he had grave doubts about his own ability to give her all the love and attention she deserved. He wanted the best for her, but he didn't know what action would ensure that result. Peter's heart broke for him. He never could have imagined that Sylar of all people would possess such a deep and abiding sense of duty for another human being, but it was beautiful in its agony. "Or," he quietly suggested, "you can call me. I can take her as a paramedic so you won't even have to deal with it yourself. I can tell them I found her. If you want to keep her for a little while until you decide and you need some help, you can call me for that too. Either way…call me."

Sylar gave him a grateful nod as he gave his daughter a sideways glance. She had fallen asleep on his shoulder, her breaths as light as a feather. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her tiny fist clenching his shirt in a ball and he involuntarily smiled. Peter quietly saw himself out and he slowly positioned himself on his back on the couch, fearful he would wake her. "Maybe we can just take a quick nap." His deep voice rumbled as he carefully repositioned her so her head rested over his heart. "We both had a hard day."

He yawned and looked through her papers. Her birth certificate stated she was born in Alexandria, Virginia as Gabrielle Carter. Given the date of her birth, she was a little over 6 months old. Stephanie's information had been provided, but the blanks for the father's information remained unfilled. He didn't know if it was an effort to protect his identity or a possible admission that she didn't know the baby's paternity. Although he was certain of his own sexual history, he didn't know hers and it was possible that the baby might not be his and that it was just coincidence they had similar features. It could have been Damian's for all he knew since she admitted she spoke to him through her job. They could have been doing a lot more than talking and he was ever so glad he turned down her initial job offer. Working in an environment that was loaded with so much backstabbing and intrigue would have driven him back into his old ways faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.

"Gabrielle?" He wondered aloud as he sneered. "That's a horrible name. You don't want to go through life like that, trust me. All you'll hear about is angels and people will compare you to them even though they know that you could never measure up in a million years no matter how perfect you try to be." He looked down at her and sighed deeply. She bobbed up and down on his chest like a cork in a gently swelling ocean and he frowned. "I don't even know who you really belong to. At any rate, don't get too comfortable. Even if I am your father, I'm probably not the best person to take care of you. You deserve better than a serial killer who's trying to pull his life back together. No offense, kid, but you just came at a very bad time."


	2. The Doctor Is In

**A/N: Congrats to illogicalvulcan! You are the first to join the club! Welcome!**

**Chapter 2- The Doctor is In**

_Age: 1.5 _

"Come in." Sylar yelled as he ran stooping like a caveman through the living room after his now mobile daughter, prying every object he could out of her greedy and persistent hands.

Mohinder smiled at the little girl who was giving her exhausted father a run for his money. By the looks of it, she appeared to be winning. "She's adorable." He commended. "It's amazing how much she looks like you. Such beautiful eyes and she has your dark hair too."

Sylar collapsed on the couch and sighed. He had been running after her all morning and although he was tired with her new game, he couldn't help but smile at her when the scientist complimented her because in a way, he was complimenting him as well. "Maybe I won't sell her on Craigslist then." He deadpanned. He hadn't really planned on keeping her at all, but days stretched into months and after the initial learning curve of deciphering hungry cries from diaper changing tones, it started to become a little easier. He didn't want to care about her as much as he did, but she was a very real part of him and he was reminded of it every time he looked into her eyes. He couldn't give her away just because she was an inconvenience to him and his way of life. He was determined not to make the same mistakes his fathers had and he took her existence as a catalyst and means for change. It was undeniably hard work, but he couldn't help but be amazed almost daily by her development.

"Maybe you should be thankful that being a speedster was never a power you gained. You would be in for serious trouble if she inherited that." He noted with a broad grin.

Sylar laid his head back and rubbed his face vigorously, but never took his eyes off his little girl's next exploratory adventure. "It's bad enough as it is. She has recently discovered the ability to throw the objects she picks up, so keep an eye out for random projectiles." He warned.

"I see. She's refining her motor skills." He summed good-naturedly as a crayon glided through the air, barely missing his head. He wasn't at all bothered by it, perhaps because his own culture was a bit more indulgent of such behavior, but Sylar was clearly mortified by her attack. "Don't worry," he laughed as he retrieved the missile and handed it to his host for safe keeping, "think of it as successful mastery in action."

"Next on the agenda are your manners." He frowned disapprovingly at her and she looked to Mohinder, unsure of why her actions upset her father. "Keep it up and I'll pack you up and ship you to the zoo. You can go live with the monkeys." She remained where she was, holding onto his leg for support, looking to him with a blank stare. "She's waiting for me to smile at her." He informed his guest while maintaining his nonplussed expression.

Mohinder seemed genuinely intrigued. "And why is that?" He was a geneticist, not a pediatrician. He noticed that Sylar had books in piles on shelves and tables all about the latest theories on childcare, and in some ways it didn't surprise him that he took such a analytical approach to what for most people would have been an almost intuitive task.

"Children react to novel situations based on the primary caregiver's response. If she falls down, she will look at me before she reacts. If I seem worried, she'll start crying but if I laugh, she will too. She can't form a response on her own yet, she needs me to do it for her until she learns what reaction is appropriate in what situation for herself."

"So she interprets your smile as approval for her actions." He nodded in understanding.

"Yes." Sylar sighed, picking her up and setting her on his lap to address her. "But I can't do that right now because throwing things is bad. Right?" It was hard to know if she understood his logic, but she was just as satisfied to be near him and wrapped up in his arms. She looked up to him adoringly and made a pecking motion to her mouth. "Eat." He stated while he repeated her motion. "Are you hungry?" He turned to Mohinder and proudly announced, "Emma is teaching her sign language. It's important for children to learn additional languages when they are young because it's easier for them to integrate than it is trying to learn one as an adult. Completely different memory mechanisms in the brain."

"Indeed." He eagerly agreed. "In India, I was taught English very early. Some of my colleagues were not so lucky and I didn't envy the task of trying to master such a complex language at their ages."

Sylar grinned sheepishly. "Two years of Spanish in high school and I barely remember any of it." He set his daughter down and glanced over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen. "Can you keep an eye on her for a minute while I get her snack?"

It was a lot of responsibility, but he felt he was up to the challenge. It wasn't likely that a toddler could outwit him in the few minutes her father was absent- assuming she didn't inherit his intellect. "Sure." He smiled gently at her and although she seemed unsure of the strange man, she seemed equally curious about him.

Sylar rummaged through the cabinets and filled a small cup with Cheerios for her to snack on. It wasn't quite dinnertime yet, so he didn't want to fill her up and he was conscientious about the foods he gave her- he tried to choose healthy alternatives because once she got a taste of junk food, she would get hooked. No Doritos, hot dogs, soda, or candy for her; it was apple slices, chicken, skim milk and whole grains all the way- except for the rare times he gave her a bite of ice cream as a treat. Every kid should have ice cream once in awhile. He chose her favorite sippi cup- a yellow spill proof container with dancing giraffes printed on it. The decals were already wearing off from being washed so much, but it was her favorite cup and she loved it so much she sometimes wouldn't drink out of anything else. He was learning to pick and chose his battles and on this front, it meant patiently washing the same glass several times a day. "Mohinder," he called almost as an afterthought, "can I get you anything? Coffee, tea?" His life had become so focused on caring for his child, he sometimes forgot about the few adults he interacted with and it was making him a terrible host.

Mohinder could see that his hands were full and the needs of the small child that depended solely on him seemed greater than superficial hospitality. "None for me, thank you." He smiled to himself and wondered if Sylar would attempt to spike his drink the way he put curare in his tea so long ago in retaliation. Although he was trying to lead a better life, Sylar never forgot such things and he never knew when he may decide that retribution was in order. While he was lost in thought, his little charge had taken possession of a pen from his briefcase. She was clearly an opportunist just like her father. "No, dear." Mohinder gently chided as he removed the pointed object from her pudgy hands. "I don't think your father would want you running about with this." Upset that her find had been repossessed, she began to cry loudly as though he had beaten her just as her father entered the room. If Mohinder didn't know better, he would have thought the little girl purposely tried to solicit her protector's instincts to right the grave injustice that had been done to her, but thankfully Sylar wasn't buying it. Mohinder held up the pen with a small apologetic shrug.

Sylar shook his head wearily. "She seems to have a thing for writing utensils. Pens, pencils, crayons, whatever. I don't understand it."

"Perhaps she is to become a writer or an artist." He optimistically suggested. "Has she shown any aptitude or interest for such things?"

"The only interest or talent she's shown so far is trying to make off with anything that isn't nailed down." He grumbled. "Maybe she has a future as a kleptomaniac."

"Well then, I hope she comes to realize that there isn't much profit on the black market for crayons."

Sylar rattled the cup of Cheerios to get her attention and distract her from her overwhelming loss of the ordinary pen. It wasn't even a nice one such as a Mont Blanc and he liked to think it was because she hadn't honed her taste in what was good rather than the possibility that she was truly indiscriminate. "Come on," he encouraged her in a friendly tone, "come over here and sit with me." The waterworks dried up at his invitation and her trauma was forgotten as she waddled toward her father's outstretched hand. He scooped her up into his lap and held her cup for her least he have Cheerios all over his living room. "There," he smiled down on her, "isn't that better?" She seemed to agree, happily munching away one bit after another.

Mohinder couldn't help but smile in awe. "It is truly remarkable." He noted. "Not more than 5 years ago you were the world's worst nightmare and look at you. The mouse has tamed the lion."

Sylar's eyes flashed with a familiar sharpness that harkened back to the boogeyman he was referring to, letting him know that the old Sylar hadn't really gone anywhere. It was something of a sore point for him because he knew that she had indeed changed his persona and that his every waking moment now revolved around her, but he wasn't convinced that he wasn't just trying to fool himself. As long as he was busy with her he didn't have time to think about himself, but after she went to bed late at night and he was alone, the hunger was fierce and consuming. It was a madness he knew he couldn't indulge so he assuaged the suffering the only way he knew how: he would stare at the door to her room and remind himself of why he had to remain strong. He had to do it for her so she could have something of a normal life. If he killed again it would once more start a life of running and evasion and he knew he wouldn't stop. His supposed death had given him a clean slate and he couldn't afford to lose it and make her pay the consequences. "So do you have the results?" He asked, changing the subject. She was very perceptive of his mood and he didn't want to upset her, so he thought it best to shift into analytical mode so he didn't feel anything.

"Yes," he quickly answered, glad that Sylar didn't give in to his inclinations, "hand delivered just as you asked."

"You have printed copies?" He hissed, letting his irritation get the best of him. "Did you use government labs?" He couldn't believe that he would make such a stupid mistake. It put his daughter in danger and his urge to kill never felt stronger.

Perhaps he was mistaken about being tamed after all, Mohinder thought. Suddenly it was more like the old days in dealing with him and he was grateful he declined his offer for tea. "I do not have printed copies." He assured him patiently. "And I ran the tests myself in my private lab using coded information so as not to be traceable. I would appreciate it if you afforded me a little more credit for discretion." Sylar seemed to settle down a bit, although he knew an apology would not be forthcoming. "Firstly, I think you know the answer but she is without a doubt your daughter. There is only a 6.3 billion chance to one that it is someone else, leaving the possibility that given the world's population you have exactly one twin brother who could be responsible."

He looked down at his daughter who considered him the center of her little universe and smiled. "I don't think so." He always sort of just knew, but he preferred solid scientific evidence to remove all doubt. And now it was indisputable- she belonged to him entirely. Although it did cause a slight spike of anxiety about such a monumental responsibility, his heart swelled with pride just a bit as he wondered what her true potential was and what she was to become. "And does she have an ability?" He asked apprehensively. Being a special was a double edged sword because depending on her power, it could be incredibly useful but it also meant being considered as "other" in the larger society. Not having one made her more accepted, but he wondered if she would feel different or even somehow cheated because she missed out on an inheritance that both of her parents possessed. It seemed impossible to him that given all of his abilities, at least one of the genetic sequences in his DNA didn't make it through.

Mohinder cleared his throat. "It was almost a statistical certainty that given the fact that you and her mother both possessed abilities that she would inherit the capacity for one as well."

"So she does have the marker?" Sylar checked.

"She does." He confirmed. "But as you know, simply having the marker does not mean an ability will manifest. It is entirely possible that she is a carrier only."

Sylar nodded in understanding. "If she does or doesn't, I want to be absolutely sure that she stays off the grid. I don't want the government knowing about her." He paused to gently stroke her hair and quietly added, "I don't want her to experience the same things we had to." As horrific as his personal experiences were, it paled in comparison to the thought of his little girl being strapped to a table the way he was, but he would do it a thousand times over again if it meant saving her from a similar fate.

"I certainly understand. That's why I took the precautions that I did when examining the hair sample you sent. The data was coded and deleted and I incinerated the sample once the results were confirmed. Nothing remains to be found."

"Does anyone else know about her?" He asked anxiously. She held a lone Cheerio aloft and laid her head back to look up at her father so she could find his mouth to feed it to him. Her upside down perspective made it hard and her first few attempts landed awkwardly around his nose and cheek. He didn't want the snack, but he knew that she would persist until either he ate the damn thing or she lodged it in his eye or up his nose. He rolled his eyes and dutifully opened his mouth and tried not to gag as she almost put her entire hand in to deposit the crunchy snack. "Mmmm." He halfheartedly played along, grateful that it was indeed crunchy and not soggy. He would have gagged for sure.

"Only those who are entitled to- your dozen or so comrades of the revolution." He smiled. "I must say that there was quite a shock when we got the news that you were a father. We were all happy for you, of course, but you can understand why we were at least a little skeptical to learn that you had decided to raise her on your own. What will you tell her of your exploits?" He inquired pleasantly.

"Nothing." He declared resolutely. He had no intention of sharing his dark past with her- at least not entirely. He would tell her what she needed to know when she was old enough to understand, but that only included family history, or at least as much of it as he knew himself, and some kind of explanation about his ability. He figured that he had until she was about 15 to reasonably pass as her father because although she would be getting older he wouldn't seem to be aging a day thanks to regeneration. He hadn't worked out a solution to the problem yet, but he still had some time.

"Really?" He laughed incredulously. "A word of warning my friend: well buried and hidden secrets always seem to find their way into the light. It's best you cover them lightly and let them wither in the harsh glare of the truth rather than allow the roots of mistrust take hold."

"Thank you, farmer Suresh." He scoffed. "Very prophetic."

"Take it as you will, but all I am implying is that in this age of easy access to information you are not the sole gatekeeper of what is to be discovered. She trusts you implicitly, Sylar, and you need to do all you can to maintain that trust because she will look to you as she gets older. Although she may insist otherwise, the bond between a father and his daughter can be quite strong and you will become her source of strength and encouragement as she begins her journey to becoming her own independent woman."

"I've read the literature." He assented. "Girls who have positive relationships with their fathers have better grades, are more resistant to peer pressure, have fewer body image issues, are less likely to smoke or engage in risky sexual encounters, et cetera." He waved his hand dismissively. "I get it, Mohinder. Don't think for a second I haven't done the research."

"Of course not." Mohinder laughed as he bowed to politely excuse himself. "I wouldn't have expected any less of you. I must admire you for your tenacity and determination to do all you can to raise a perfect child."

Sylar narrowed his eyes incensed. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" It sounded snarky to him, almost as though Mohinder was questioning his ability to properly care for his child.

Mohinder smiled warmly at his former enemy. "Nothing other than to suggest that you perhaps put down your books and manuals from time to time and listen to what your heart and instincts tell you. I assure you that you won't fail, Sylar, as humanity would have never come so far if it were otherwise. The arrangement and assortment of blocks that you allow her to play with is not nearly as important as the time you spend lying in the floor playing with her. Don't let your perfectionistic tendencies to attend to detail allow you to fail in all the bigger ways that really matter." He bent to retrieve his briefcase and walked to the door. "And with that, I will bid you goodnight."

The little girl ceased in her latest attempt to ply her father's nose with food and enthusiastically made another gesture in Mohinder's direction. "She said goodbye." Sylar translated for her before turning his attention to his little blooming prodigy. "You can say the word. Tell Dr. Suresh goodbye." He waved as he said it so she could make the association between the sign and the spoken word.

She seemed shy at first, but with a little encouragement she quietly stated, "Bye bye."

After Mohinder left, Sylar carefully considered his words and although he knew them to be sound, it only served to underscore a glaring deficiency he was already aware of: he was never really able to call up or rely upon his feelings in positive ways like Peter was able to. Instead, he operated within the straight lines and right angles of logic and as helpful as it could be, he knew that he was shortchanging his daughter's development. He hugged her closely, almost protectively, once more inwardly questioning if he was really doing the right thing. She would certainly physically survive under his supervision, but he wanted her to live up to her full potential the way he never really was allowed to when he grew up. Part of his almost obsessive bent on studying nearly every aspect of child development was a direct effort to avoid the same mistakes his parents made. It was his deepest, darkest fear that despite all of his efforts not to, he would end up repeating the same damaging cycle that left him somehow feeling incomplete.

He often found himself wondering about his own upbringing. He remembered clearly her first step and the very first word she said: dada. Granted it was probably just babbling, but she was smiling at him over her plate of peas when she said it and his heart melted. He wondered if his father ever felt as he did when he said his first word, whatever it was. Was he proud when his son took his first teetering steps? He remembered feeling shy and fearful as a child and although he couldn't remember any specific occurrences of violence, he doubted that his accomplishments were met with any fanfare. His father couldn't have been too impressed if he sold him like a common household good, as if he didn't matter. He didn't fully understand what was happening to him at the time, but he did know that he was being left behind and that he was unwanted- and it hurt. Watching his mother being murdered only added to his confusion, but he was never the same after that. He always felt like an outsider, an intruder on other people's perfect lives.

No matter what, he was bound and determined that his daughter would never feel the way he did. Even if he failed at the technical aspects of parenthood, he was always sure to hold her and smile at her even when it didn't always feel natural to him. He did feel an intense and abiding sense of love for her, nothing like he had ever before experienced. It compelled him to want to go to the ends of the earth for her to ensure she had everything she needed and protect her from all harm, but it also made him feel a crushing sense of failure because he knew that sooner or later he would let her down in some way. And if her life didn't turn out perfectly, it would be his fault and he had forever to blame himself for it.

She watched him carefully with a concerned expression. Something had changed, but her young mind was unable to comprehend what it was. All she knew was that her beloved protector was not smiling at her like he usually did, so she tried to rectify the situation the only way she knew how. "Dada, eat." She commanded, repetitively banging a Cheerio against her own mouth to use the sign Emma had practiced with her. His eyes softened a little as his mouth curled into a small smile, putting her at ease. She giggled, pleased that her actions once again won his approval and all was right in her world.


	3. Angels and Demons

**A/N: Thanks to johncorn for being the first reviewer. Huzzah and Happy New Year!**

**Chapter 3- Angels and Demons**

_Age: 2.5_

Sylar was seriously having second thoughts about his decision, but he was fairly sure that the warranty on his purchase had expired. There was no returning her now. It was the cruelest lie of nature to endow babies and toddlers with such extreme cuteness that a parent would willingly disembowel themselves if it meant making their children smile only to have them turn into unpredictably violent bundles of untamed fury and sheer madness when it was too late to turn back. It was an ambush of epic proportion and he was constantly under siege. If only he could surrender he would have waved the white flag long ago. The latest battle in the ongoing war of wills revolved around pink socks. Wars have been started over stranger things, but this one was particularly silly and it was partially his fault.

He tried to give his daughter as many choices as possible when it was appropriate so she could form her own preferences and identity. He gave her a wide variety of toys to play with including dolls and cars, her clothes came in all colors of the rainbow and were not overly frilly or glittery, and he tried to expose her to as many activities as he could which involved typical girl things like wearing more makeup than a cheap drag queen as well as traditional boy things like building houses out of legos. He was determined not to direct her into stereotypical gender roles. Instead, he would let her find her own interests and it generally worked fairly well, but occasionally it backfired into events like the war of the pink socks.

The day had a set schedule of events and every day was the same for the sake of consistency. He was a firm believer that more structure meant less strife if she knew exactly what to expect. Any deviation from the schedule meant he had to prepare her well ahead of time by reminding her of the impending change several times. Anything less would result in a catastrophic meltdown and he had learned by experience that was to be avoided if at all possible. She was easily upset when her routine was disrupted, so his life had become relentlessly monotonous by necessity.

The day had gone smoothly for the most part with successful completion of choosing her wardrobe for the day, breakfast, brushing her teeth and combing her hair, back-to-back episodes of Dora the Explorer and Sesame Street, getting dressed, and lunch. It all ground to a halt, however, when tragedy struck. She had chosen a pair of blue shorts and a black t-shirt with white socks. It was reasonably coordinated and certainly not the worst combination she had come up with to wear in public, but the plan was suddenly changed when she wanted a drink before they left for their daily post lunch visit to the park. Sylar gave her some lightly sweetened cherry Kool-Aid which she dribbled onto her socked feet. The first shot had been fired.

Sylar, not wanting his daughter to go out in public looking a mess, suggested she take them off so he could wash them. She, having already settled on that exact pair of socks, could not bear to part with them and refused. He explained that she couldn't leave the house dirty because others would think badly of her. In what limited capacity for communication she had, she more or less told him to go to hell. He patiently tried to reason with her, she became hysterical. He hadn't done laundry in a few days, but she did have another pair in her drawer. He offered the pink socks as a solution to her problems. It pushed her over the edge and his neighbors probably thought he was skinning her alive the way she shrieked at him in unbridled anger like a possessed demon child.

Her piercing scream made his ears hurt and her face turned beat red as she stomped her feet in a tantrum. He had officially reached the point of no return. Previous experience taught him that it was very unwise to try and approach her to pick her up least she claw his eyes out in a blind rage. Of course he could grow more, but it would be unnecessarily painful for him and freaky for her. The only thing he could do was stand there and watch her with a blank expression and wait until she ran out of steam. He believed in giving her a choice, but situations arose from time to time in which she had no choice and she felt as though she was entitled to her opinion at every opportunity. When she didn't get it, she had a meltdown. Aggravating as it was, he had to let her go both to teach her that disappointment is a part of life and to let her develop her own capacity to control her emotions. She wasn't doing a very good job of it at this point, but many failures precede success.

After she had carried on for about 10 minutes, she stood swaying gently, sniffling and whining, but otherwise spent. "Are you done?" He asked looking down on her with an arched eyebrow and folded arms. He waited for her to miserably nod yes before continuing. "Now, about the socks…" She started winding up for a second assault, but he stopped her in her tracks with a deep scowl that let her know he wasn't playing. "Take them off or go to your room. Those are your options." He hated playing hardball like that, but he was her father and as such, he had to enforce the rules even when it made him the bad guy.

"Noooooooo." She flailed in protest, her face red and puffy from crying. "I don't want to!"

He squatted down in front of her and gave her a stern look while he held out his left hand. "Listen to me, baby. Pay attention." He presented his empty palm to her and said, "You can take off your dirty socks and go to the park. Or," he held out his right hand, "you can go to your room and we stay home. You choose. What do you want to do?" She put up one last feeble protest, but reluctantly slapped his left hand. "Ok." He smiled, knowing all along which she would chose. "Change your socks and let's go to the park." She sullenly stalked to her room and he called after her, "Hurry, we're late. Maybe we can still catch your friend Yoshi."

"Yoshi!" She screamed happily from her bedroom. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly the winds of her mood shifted. It was like living with someone who was bipolar and it was exhausting.

"Thought you might want to see him." He laughed. She had recently made friends with a quiet Japanese boy in the neighborhood and they seemed to enjoy one another's company. They were often at the park at the same time and they loved playing on the monkey bars or in the sandbox. Sylar thought it was important for her to meet other kids because it allowed her to hone her social skills in ways she couldn't being a single child in an adult world. It was something he knew all about. He was an only child who had no friends because he learned to associate with people much older than himself. Adults loved him because he was a quiet and intelligent child, but put him in a room with other kids and he was utterly lost because he didn't know how to play their games or navigate the sometimes arbitrary social pecking order.

He sat in his usual spot on the park bench drinking his coffee. He looked forward to the park almost as much as she did because while it was playtime for her, it was quiet time for him. It gave him a short break from his duties and allowed him the small indulgence of coffee from his favorite shop- something that used to be a habit but was now a treat. His entire life had been restructured around her schedule down to showering late at night after she had gone to bed. He simply couldn't leave her running around the house unsupervised and to have her in the bathroom with him was absolutely out of the question. It was part of the politics of the gender balance. For the longest time, he received nasty stares from overprotective mothers when he came to the park. They no doubt thought him a pedophile and the fact that he had his own child didn't seem to make much of a difference. He would have shrugged it off as stupidity, but it was affecting his daughter. Some of the mothers refused to let their children play with the strange man's girl, ushering them away as they whispered in their ears and gave him dirty looks. Thankfully, a few of them were a little more progressive and gave him friendly, supportive smiles when he refused to stop bringing his child. She now had many playmates to choose from and as long as she was happy, he was happy, but the happiness didn't last long on that day.

His seat was strategic because it offered a view of both the monkey bars and the sandpit, two of her favorite hangouts. From his post he could keep an eye on her and he generally did, because he was well aware that it only took a second for someone to kidnap her if they so desired. As far as he knew he was on good terms with the Company, but given his past he never really could be sure who may want to retaliate. What better way than to take his child? He spotted her building a castle in the sandbox, but she was all alone. She had been playing with Yoshi…

"Excuse me," a petite woman quietly said, bowing slightly to him with an embarrassed smile, "I'm Yoshi's mother." The young boy held onto his mother's hand, looking sullenly at the ground. "I don't want to cause any trouble, but I wanted you to know about a small problem."

"What happened?" He asked, sitting up and glancing toward his daughter. He didn't like the fact that he missed something.

"It's not a big deal, really." She demurred. Yoshi apparently felt otherwise. "Our children were playing together in the sand and your daughter took his shovel." Her smile faltered just a bit as she turned the boy's head to point out a red mark on his cheek. "And she hit him. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, but if we could just get his shovel back we can go home."

Sylar closed his eyes and sighed in despair. "I'm sorry." He lamented, feeling inadequate and embarrassed that his daughter would do such a thing. "We've been working on this and she knows she isn't supposed to hit people." He gave the boy a sympathetic look and asked, "Are you ok, Yoshi?"

The boy nodded yes, and his mother smiled down lovingly at him. "I think his pride is hurt more than anything. I understand that at this age they are quite unpredictable, so don't feel too badly. They are usually very good friends."

He took long strides across the playground and reached his child in no time flat. He was angry and disappointed, but he took a moment to get his own feelings in check so he could teach her a lesson about hers. He squatted behind her as she continued to play and pleasantly asked, "What do you have there?"

"Shovel." She answered, pouring a cascade of sand from it and watching it fall to the ground.

He nodded and continued his interrogation. "Where did you get it?"

"It's mine." She replied simply.

The funny thing was, the back of his head didn't tingle. In her mind it was an open and shut case of finders keepers. "We didn't have that when we came, so where did you get it?"

"I found it."

He could see that she was just as good at evasive answers as he was and it very well could take all day, so he cut to the chase. "You found it in Yoshi's hand, right? If you took it from him without asking, that's stealing. You can't just take things you want, sweetheart." His face blanched momentarily at his own blatant hypocrisy. How many powers did he steal from people? "You have to give it back."

"No!" She shouted, crossing her arms and pouting. "It's mine!"

"It's not yours." He said firmly. "You will give him his shovel back and you will tell him you are sorry for hitting him. Remember we talked about hitting people? It's not ok, is it?" He asked knowingly. "Yoshi is your friend and friends are very special people, baby. You hurt him and you need to apologize. You would want him to tell you he was sorry if he hurt you, right?" She reluctantly agreed and he gave her an encouraging hug. "That's right. Now be a big girl and go tell him you're sorry. Then we can go home and watch Bob the Builder and have dinner with Uncle Peter."

She hesitantly approached her sad friend and glanced up at her father, but his stern expression told her there was no getting out of it. She handed him his toy while his mother watched smiling at the pair. Receiving his tool back seemed to be enough to restore his sprits. "Thank you." The woman bowed to Sylar.

"There was something else you were supposed to do." He reminded his misbehaving child. "What were you supposed to tell him?" He wasn't about to let her off the hook or allow her to make his already questionable reputation worse by being a bully.

She twisted her fingers into knots and drug her foot on the ground. Almost as suddenly as she became bashful, she sprung at him and gave him a kiss on the red mark she inflicted. "Sorry."

"Good job." He commended. "Can you give him a hug?" She wrapped her arms around her friend and he stood there stiffly, causing his mother to giggle at his awkwardness. "Ok, we'll come back tomorrow and maybe he will let you play with his toys, but you have to ask him first."

Peter stopped by just before dinner as he sometimes did, but not before he was mauled at the door. "Uncle Peter!" She cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing as tight as she could while he pretended to choke.

"You are a strong little girl, Gaby." He laughed.

Sylar looked vaguely uncomfortable and he cleared his throat. "Actually, her name is Jenna." When Peter looked at him questioningly he quietly added, "I'll explain later."

"Ok…." He warily granted with a confused look on his face. "What's for dinner?" He was curious about the sudden name change and he was a little worried that Sylar may have slipped up and had to change it to protect her identity, but he had to wait for the details.

Sylar continued chopping vegetables and proudly announced, "Tofu stir fry."

"Awesome. You are quite the chef." He commended. He wanted to ask him what he planned for breakfast back at Maria's, but he had to watch what he said around Gabrielle- or Jenna- or whoever she was.

"Not really, it's really very….ouch!" He hissed as he dropped the knife with a clatter and jerked his hand back. It was definitely not something a chef would do.

"You ok?" Peter asked reflexively while he watched him run his hand under the sink. Of course he was, but it still seemed rude not to inquire.

"Daddy has a boo-boo." Jenna announced, scooting off the couch and making her way to the kitchen. "Daddy…" she called, tugging on his pant leg to get his attention.

"Yes, honey." He calmly acknowledged as he watched the pink tinged water swirl down the drain. Instead of chopping the bell peppers, he nearly chopped his finger off. "I'm ok."

"I'll fix you." She volunteered. "Let me see. I'll make it better."

He glanced nervously at Peter, but he had it covered. Perhaps no one had more experience covering and explaining away nonexistent injuries than he did. "Come on," he invited the would be nurse, "let's go get the stuff to fix daddy."

He waited for Peter to lead her out of the room by the hand to gather first aid supplies from the bathroom to quickly make another small cut on his finger. He had washed away all the blood from the first wound, leaving nothing for her to "fix." It didn't amount to more than a drop of blood, but it would be enough to convince her. He was careful to never use his abilities around her until he found out if she was going to have one. If she didn't, it would make it easier for her to integrate into society. If she did, no harm no foul because he could reveal it at any time, but regeneration was the only ability he had no real control over and he hoped Peter could help him play it off.

"Ok," Peter instructed upon his return, "lucky for him, I'm a nurse. You want to be one too?" He asked Jenna.

She scrunched up her nose and laughed. "You're a boy. Boys can't be a nurse."

"Yeah they can!" He defended with a smile. "Ok then, you can be a doctor like Aunt Emma. Girls can be doctors." He gestured for Sylar to squat down to her level so she could repair the damage. He did as he was told and stuck out his bottom lip as though he were about to cry to add to his apparent distress. "So the first thing we have to do is clean it." He poured a small amount of peroxide onto a cotton ball and handed it to her. "Scrub it really good so we get all the nasty germs."

She dabbed aimlessly at his finger, but somehow managed to soak up most of the blood. She peered closely at it and said, "I don't see it. Where did it go?"

"It's there." Peter assured her. "It's really tiny, but it hurts really bad, right?" He asked tilting his head at his patient to encourage him to play it up. Sylar gave his daughter his best puppy dog eyes and sniffed a few times.

"Don't cry, Daddy." She told him as she gently patted his knee. "I'll kiss it better." That's what he always did for her when she fell down and it always worked.

"Ok, but we have to put the band-aid on first." Peter interjected, hurriedly peeling a bandage from the wrapper. He watched her make a mess of it trying to wrap it around his finger, but she got it on well enough that it wouldn't immediately fall off and that was all that mattered. "Ok, now you can kiss it better."

She puckered her lips to an absurd degree and quickly pecked the band-aid. Sylar's expression immediately brightened and he hugged her. He had no idea how she could be both a holy terror and the sweetest angel. "Thank you. You made it all better." She seemed pleased with her efforts and she skipped back to the couch, the event long over in her mind.

Peter graciously agreed to read Jenna her bedtime story while Sylar grabbed a quick shower. After she fell fast asleep, Peter quietly closed the door to her room and joined his host. "So," he slyly smiled, "Jenna, huh? What happened to Gabrielle? I thought it was a nice name."

Sylar glared at him in clear disagreement. "It's now Jenna Marie Carter."

"Duly noted, but why?" He asked curiously. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing happened." He growled. He was growing tired of people assuming that he had fallen off the wagon like a drunken 12 stepper. He wondered if they had such things for murderers… "I didn't like her original name."

"Knowing you there is some significance. Is Marie for Maria?" He guessed.

"Yeah." He confirmed in a quiet tone, almost as if he were embarrassed to be so transparent. "And I wanted to include my mother, but Virginia is a terrible name as well, so I settled on Jenna."

"It's nice, man." Peter genuinely complimented. "I'm sure Maria would be proud that you honored her like that." _More than proud, this would have made her die and go to Heaven. _"And you let her keep her mother's last name."

"I couldn't give her mine. Gray isn't an unusual name, but it is still tainted- like Manson or Hitler."

"But good enough for you to keep?" He challenged. "Why didn't you change yours? I'm sure that Nathan or Noah could have helped you out with that."

"They did, in a manner of speaking. I kept my name but they gave me a new social security number and ID's. I'm just a guy with the misfortune of having the same name as this country's most hated criminal, although I expect that will wear off as time goes by." He seemed strangely ambivalent about it. "And in a few years it won't even matter because even though I look the same, people will think that I'm too young to possibly be the same person. No more Sylar sightings."

"So we shouldn't call you 'Sylar' anymore?" He checked. "Old habits die hard, you know."

"I have to start a new life sometime. I guess I should get used to being called 'Gabriel' again." It sounded a little strange to his own ears, but it didn't do him any good to carry around his old identity- outwardly, anyway…


	4. Small Favors

**Chapter 4- Small Favors**

_Age: 4_

It seemed like time was flying by and there were a million details to attend to. Vaccination schedules, play dates, homework, interviews. Gabriel wrestled with the idea of sending Jenna to preschool. Of course he knew that it would be good for her social and cognitive development, but he debated if he really wanted to put her through the rigors of separation anxiety so young when he could continue taking her to the park and spend his days helping her learn her colors, shapes, and numbers. He was all she knew and he wondered how she would handle being left in a strange place, but truthfully his anxiety was just as great as hers. He had been more or less attached to the hip with her for the past 3 years and he didn't like the idea of entrusting her to total strangers- even if it was only for a few hours.

If he enjoyed her early development, he was having a blast with her now as he could almost see her little brain swelling with facts and ideas. The pace with which she acquired information was staggering and he smiled at her adoringly every time she made a connection between two concepts on her own. She wasn't exactly doing linear equations yet, but he was almost giddy with anticipation to know how far she could really go. He easily fell into the trap that every parent does: believing that his child was the brightest and most beautiful in the world and he dared anyone to disagree. Although he constantly reminded himself that he wouldn't pressure her beyond her capabilities the way his own mother did, in the back of his mind he secretly wanted her to be an astrophysicist, rocket scientist, or something of the like. He was well aware that statistically, 68% of the population fell within the average range of intelligence, leaving only 16% that would exceed mediocrity- but it was his secret hope that she had indeed inherited his intellect.

He was no child prodigy and of course his IA enhanced his natural ability later in life, but there was no doubt that he was ahead of his peers. He would often sit quietly by himself and read while his classmates were still trying to master naptime and the gap only widened as he got older. He remembered far too many parent-teacher conferences that all went the same way: '_He's_ _not a troublemaker, Ms. Gray, he just doesn't seem to pay attention. He daydreams a lot and doesn't really play with the other kids_.' He would always sit quietly beside his mother, looking down at the floor, but he never said a word even as his mother lectured him all the way home. '_I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Gabriel_.' She would frown at him and he always felt like he was in trouble. '_You're such a smart boy. I don't understand why you can't listen to your teachers_.' He never told her that he was listening, and that he almost always got it the first time they explained it, so he was bored when they spent the rest of the day rehashing the same information for the benefit of his slower classmates. If Jenna showed the same pattern, he vowed to get her into accelerated classes so she wouldn't have to sit through the hell day after day that he did. If she wasn't the next baby Einstein he would be a little disappointed and love her anyway, but it didn't mean that he was going to let the chips fall where they may.

It was past 10:00pm when his cell phone rang. "Gabriel." Nathan greeted in a tone that let him know he wasn't entirely comfortable using his given name rather than his former persona. "Pete told me you needed to talk to me. He told me to call you through the network. Is everything ok?"

After the war, Rebel left the untraceable system he set up in place because it was so damned useful for specials such as Gabriel who were no longer supposed to exist. It was what allowed a dead man to contact his congressional representative to ask for a favor. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just didn't think you needed the scrutiny of talking with an executed criminal from beyond the grave."

Nathan gave a hearty laugh on the other end of the line. "That would be a little hard to explain. What can I do for you? I'm assuming you are calling to cash in your gold card you earned during the war."

"Partially." He conceded. He hated the idea of asking Nathan Petrelli or anyone for anything, but it was his daughter's future he was considering, so it was time to swallow his pride. "I'm sure you've heard that things have changed a little for me since the war."

"I heard. Scary as hell, isn't it? Pete showed me a picture of her. She's cute as a button. Let's just hope she doesn't develop your eyebrows or you'll go broke going to salons to get them waxed." He chuckled. "But let me give you a heads up: _never_ say anything about it. Give her a blank smile if you have to, but for god sake, don't make that mistake. Girls are very sensitive about their appearance and she'll never let you forget it."

"Yeah." Gabriel ground out, plainly irritated that he would in any way imply that his daughter was destined to be some ugly duckling. He knew he was only joking, but he just couldn't find it funny. He wouldn't wish his eyebrows on anyone. "Anyway, she's almost ready to start school."

"Already?" He asked amazed. "Time certainly flies, doesn't it? Pretty soon you'll find yourself holding her purse in a department store while she tries on 100 prom dresses, asking you if they make her butt look big."

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "I don't want to think about that right now. One crisis at a time."

Nathan found it hysterical, but there was something that smacked of familiarity rather than cruelty in his laughter. "Do you have a school picked out? Some are better than others, you know."

"I do." He admitted, looking over the glossy brochure that had been laying on his desk for a week. "I was looking at Cranbrook Academy."

There was a short pause on the other end. "Oh," he replied noncommittally, "Cranbrook's one of the best private schools in the city."

"And your alma mater." He stated matter-of-factly. The school boasted many notable scientists, artists, business leaders, and politicians having passed through their doors and Nathan was on the list. "I know it's insanely competitive to get in, but…" He sighed and thought that honesty would have to be the best policy even if it did make him sound like he was whining. "I went to a public school in Queens. I don't know all the right things to say to get her in."

"Did you go to an interview yet?"

"Yes. They didn't tell me, but I'm guessing that I'm pretty far down on the list behind several CEO's, stockbrokers, and mob bosses." He was mildly exasperated. He may not have known how to navigate the sociopolitical maze of admission boards, but he certainly knew how the system worked and the odds were not in his favor. "I would have told them I was serial killer, but I didn't think they would give me any extra points for diversity." He grumbled. "They did invite me back to talk to the chancellor, though."

"That's a good sign." He encouraged him. "When you go, play up the fact that you're a single father. It's a fairly progressive school and they will appreciate that. That will get you the extra points you were looking for." His tone grew suave and just a little conspiratorial. "In the meantime, I can make a call or two and see what I can do to get her moved up on the list."

"I was hoping that a good reference from the state's senior senator would be worth something." He chuckled, relieved that his aspirations for his daughter just might come true. Sure he could have reverted to his old ways of breaking into the chancellor's office and threatening her until she agreed to enroll Jenna, but he was trying to avoid that. "I would have asked Jesus Christ himself to put in a good word for me, but we haven't been on speaking terms in awhile. Besides, I suspect he's already been bought off by the Catholic Church on behalf of some Cardinal's kid."

"So I'm sloppy seconds." He noted half-laughing. "Wait, did you vote for me? Normally I wouldn't be bothered unless you were my constituent or gave me a nice campaign donation, but seeing as you more or less brokered peace between specials and the rest of the nation, I guess I can let that rule slide."

"Can you get a Nobel Prize posthumously?" Gabriel inquired rhetorically. "As expensive as tuition will be, I might need the million dollars."

"And it never ends, trust me. Field trips, school supplies, lunch money, prom, graduation parties, college. Just be thankful that if she gets in to Cranbrook, she'll have to wear a uniform to class every day. I almost went broke buying Claire clothes for school. I honestly don't know how much clothes one girl can possibly wear. It's a wonder I didn't go grey long before I did. I only took this job because I was getting too old to fly jets and it was the highest paid gig I could get outside of selling my kidneys on eBay."

Money was never really a problem for Gabriel. After Nathan had restored Maria's honor by having her conviction rescinded, it cleared the way for her assets to be allocated the way she had intended in her will. While she donated the largest portion of her considerable wealth to various charities, she endowed each of her former slaves with various sums to be held in a trust in each of their names and allocated as needed. Her intent was to either make their lives a little less miserable under the slave system or to give them a head start should the system eventually fall. Gabriel didn't even know about his endowment until he received a certified letter one day informing him that he was the beneficiary of almost 3 million dollars. He was of course grateful that she thought enough of him to include him in her will after only a short time, but thanks to Bob Bishop, he had a steady stream of income in the scrap metal trade. There were plenty of objects laying around and enough gold buyers in the city that he kept his bank account flush without raising suspicion. "Surely you got a pay raise when you took over McCaskey's job. Did they ever find out what happened to him?" He asked sarcastically.

"Nope." Nathan sighed uncomfortably. "As far as I know, he was electrocuted trying to change a fuse in his basement after he resigned." He knew that Sylar had briefly come out of retirement shortly after the war to fix the McCaskey problem, but that was the official story and he was sticking to it. He respected the fact that Sylar was trying to go sober as it were, but McCaskey was threatening to escalate the war and that would have undermined the entire effort. It really was a win-win because for some reason Sylar had a personal distaste for him, which only made the job easier or at least more enjoyable for him if the crime scene photos were any indication. "Anyway, you said you were partially cashing in your card. What else do you need?"

"Nothing yet, but if she decides to go into politics I expect you to take her as an intern." He informed him jokingly. "I have to look out for her future, you know."

Nathan chuckled and honestly said, "By the time she's in college I'll probably be senile or dead. You might want to call Damian on that one."

"I thought he was a lobbyist." He absentmindedly fiddled with the brochure, imagining Jenna in the blue plaid uniform.

"One of the best paid ones in the business, but he's in my office more than I am and I don't think you'll find a more honest person in Washington to trust your daughter with. Give your girl to some of these newer political hacks and she'll come home a woman if you know what I mean." He groused bitterly. He would never have put himself at the pinnacle of integrity, but he knew of far too many 'appropriations' being proposed after hours in closets.

Gabriel felt his blood pressure rise at the thought of anyone taking advantage of his daughter. "There would be a lot of emergency elections for vacated seats." He vowed.

"I'll bet. But if you ever come down here to clean house, just remember who it was that tried to help you." He humbly requested. "I know it's been awhile, but I haven't forgotten what you did for Claire. Now maybe you understand how Noah and I felt."

He thought back to the night he agreed to rescue Claire from the facility in Virginia. He knew they must have been desperate to even ask in the first place and honestly at the time he thought it was pathetic, but his success had much more meaning to him now than it did then. "Yeah, I think I do." He admitted quietly. He simply couldn't endure the thought of Jenna in that situation. If the roles were reversed, he would have given HRG a blow job in Times Square and had the courtesy to swallow if it meant saving her.

He stayed up late trying to catch up on chores that had fallen by the wayside during the week, but even though he was exhausted, he couldn't fall asleep. He lay in his bed in a semiconscious haze as outside the sky lit up and thunder rolled. His mind was spinning wildly with possibilities. What if he couldn't keep Jenna off the radar? What if there were more people out there- men like HRG who were watching her, waiting to hunt and capture her? What if they did it because of him? Just because he wanted to turn his back on all that he was before she came into his life didn't mean that everyone else was so willing to forgive or forget. He wanted to be a better man and for the most part he believed he was doing a fair job, but he also knew that the moment his little girl was in danger that Sylar would rise to burn the entire world to cinders in retribution. Once he killed again, there would be no going back and he didn't want to go back to that life, but he would do it at the drop of a hat for her.

"Daddy." Her sweet little voice drifted into his consciousness. "Daddy, I'm scared."

He opened one bleary eye to see her silhouette standing awkwardly in the doorway to his room. Her pigtails were askew and she clutched her teddy bear, Mr. Bubbles, to her chest tightly. He sighed wearily. He just didn't have the strength or patience to deal with another round of searching her room for monsters. At first he was happy to be the knight in shining armor that vanquished all imaginary intruders, but almost two months worth of nightly performances was starting to grow old. "Sweetie, what did we learn last night?" He droned.

"That monsters don't live under beds or in closets." She recited.

"What else?"

She thought about it for a minute as the lightning illuminated her small frame. "That ghosts aren't real." She jumped slightly when the thunder rumbled.

"Uh huh." He mumbled into his pillow. "So if there are no monsters or ghosts, why are you scared?" She pointed to the only window in his room and he half glanced over his shoulder not really expecting to see anything, but then again he wasn't privy to whatever her overactive little mind conjured up in the wee hours of the morning. "The storm?" He guessed. "It's no big deal, baby. Go back to bed."

She danced urgently and clutched Mr. Bubbles so hard that had he been real, she would have broken his neck. "I don't want to, Daddy. I'm scared." She cried, on the verge of tears.

He blinked slowly and stared at her dully. Part of him wanted to comfort her because it seemed cruel to send her away after she begged for his help, but she had to get used to thunderstorms sooner or later. He also knew that allowing her to sleep in his bed set a bad precedent and it seemed that lately she tried everything she could think of to wiggle her way in despite having a perfectly comfortable bed of her own. The only rational solution was to get up and take her back to her room. It would of course mean staying in the room with her, fetching glasses of water that she would only take a small sip of, explaining the scientific whatnots of how storms work, and reading endless stories. The entire venture could last hours and she would be right back up at her usual time, leaving him to feel guilty for seriously contemplating giving her Benadryl to put her to sleep just so he could get some shuteye. He knew it was the right thing to do, but he was just simply too tired to give a damn. It was the kind of all consuming weariness that he felt when he was running during the war and as he was in no immediate danger of being shot, he had no reason not to give in- just this once. He rolled onto his side and tossed the covers off for her. "Come on," he yawned, "but just for tonight. Ok?"

She bounded across the room with a satisfied grin in her footed pajamas and climbed up into his bed, so much bigger than her own. She snuggled up tightly against him while he covered her up and gently draped his arm across her. In the small, warm pocket between his body and arm, she felt a sense of impenetrable safety and security. She wrapped her fingers in the sleeve of his t-shirt and peacefully drifted to sleep knowing that he would protect her from all manner of monsters, ghosts, and loud noises until morning.

He wiggled his nose when a few silky strands of her dark hair tickled his face, but he didn't dare move for fear he might wake her. She smelled like her Strawberry Shortcake bubble bath and it mixed oddly with his own masculine scented body wash, but at least he might get a few hours sleep if he could ignore it. It was selfish, but Daddy had needs too and he hoped that his one moment of weakness and laziness wouldn't in some way impede her development later in life. But as he slowly descended into unconsciousness, it occurred to him that she would have far many more reasons to need a therapist once she found out about his past, making that night seem almost inconsequential in comparison.


	5. First Day Jitters

**Chapter 5- First Day Jitters**

_Age: 5_

It was a sweltering hot late summer day in August and Jenna fidgeted with her uncomfortably restrictive shirt collar. She was sweating, tired, and she didn't like the unsettled vibe she was getting from her father. Maybe it was the way he squeezed her hand a little too tightly as they strolled at a brisk pace on a path she hadn't been on before, or maybe it was the fact that he made her dress up and insisted she wear the blue plaid uniform rather than pick out her own clothes as she had always done, but there was something very different about that day and she didn't like it one bit. "Slow down, Daddy." She whined when her little legs grew tired of trying to keep up with his.

"Sorry, honey." He replied as he deftly slung her up to carry her on his hip in one smooth motion without slowing in the least. She was getting a little too big to carry like that, but he was on a mission and with her as cargo, he was free to move as fast as he needed to. She was getting heavy, so he covertly used his telekinesis to help support her weight. She wouldn't know the difference, he reasoned. "We're going to be late." Nathan had worked his magic to get Jenna moved to the top of the list, although Gabriel didn't ask how much political capital it cost him. In a way, he didn't care. No matter the price he paid in favors, it couldn't have compared to being shot on live TV and put on display like one of his father's taxidermied specimens.

"Where are we going?" She too seemed to know that big girls didn't get carried like that anymore and it only added to her general sense of irritation. She took in the tree lined street and big, fancy brownstone buildings as they flashed by in a blur and she couldn't help but feel as though she were being swept downstream toward someplace she didn't want to be.

"Today's a big day for you." He smiled at her, trying to make the experience as pleasant as possible- hoping like hell that she would just go quietly. "Today is your first day of school. You'll meet new friends, learn all kinds of new things. It will be fun!" He honestly didn't see it as being any shade of enjoyable for either of them, but he had to stay upbeat for her sake. Although she was getting better at forming her own responses and regulating her emotions, she still looked to him for guidance in uncertain situations and he had to set a positive tone. "It's the same school Uncle Peter went to when he was your age." Dropping Peter's name always seemed to help any sticky situation, and it irritated him just a little. It made him feel inadequate, like he wasn't sufficient in the distress soothing department. It was as though she thought Peter was a better dad than he was even though she only saw him occasionally. She might have been right, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow his jealousy every time she ran to him, her little face all lit up with sheer joy to hug him the moment he darkened the doorstep. Even in his absence, his name seemed to suffice in bringing her cheer.

"Is he going to be there?" She asked excitedly.

"No, he finished school and you will too. You don't go to school forever." _Unless you become a neurosurgeon. Christ, I'll be getting tuition bills for the next 40 years… _"Today will be exciting, but today will also be the first day that you get to be a big girl." This was the part he was dreading, and he thought it best to prep her as much as possible before he reached the gates of the school and she had a panic attack. He didn't want to be the parent with a child screaming like a banshee and snot bubbles pouring out of the nose while the other parents looked on in mild disgust and superiority.

She turned abruptly to him and cinched her arms around his neck like a boa constrictor. "You're going too, right?" She worriedly asked, laying her head on his shoulder and hugging him tight in one last bid not to be left behind. "Don't leave me, Daddy." She pleaded.

His heart broke as he returned her embrace and rubbed her back soothingly to reassure her. He remembered well how it felt even if the circumstances weren't quite the same. He actually remembered his first day of school, and as he was still traumatized from the events of the months before, it didn't really affect him to be left standing by himself at the doors to the school. He had already been abandoned once, so having it happen again didn't bother him as much as it did the other kids. While his new classmates cried and a few actually pretended to be pirates storming the castle, he felt nothing in particular- just an empty sense of inevitability. "Being a big girl means doing some things on your own." He gently explained. "It's only for a little while, and I promise I'll be right here waiting for you every day." He reached the fancy black and gold wrought iron gates that barricaded the perimeter of the grounds and he set her down, squatting to face her. "I love you, baby." He told her sincerely with a warm smile even if the words were a little foreign to him. "Do you believe me?"

She miserably nodded yes and looked at the imposing building that was to be her new and exciting adventure. The gates might as well have had guard towers as far as she was concerned because it felt like she was being trapped and she wouldn't have her father to protect and guide her as she always did. She tried to be a big girl and make her father proud, but she was scared and her large, deep brown eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't want to go." She cried, her tears spilling down her rounded cheeks. "I want to stay with you."

He wanted her to stay with him too, but he knew this day would come. He smiled to himself in wonder, remembering the day he found her on his doorstep. He was so sure that he wasn't going to keep her, to raise her, and to love her as he did. His life was very different then and he just couldn't see himself as being capable of such a feat. Saving the world? Easy. Being a single father with a past darker and more vacuous than outer space and trying to shepherd another living being along a normal and healthy path so divergent of his own? Not so easy. Maybe it was her sad eyes, so much like his own, or the fact that he was getting used to being called 'Gabriel' again but whatever it was, he definitely felt more like the watchmaker he used to be and he had his little angel to thank for it. The darkness of Sylar still lurked inside of him, there was no denying that, but once he finally let go of his fear of actually opening his heart to another did he find the parts of him that had been long buried. He had regained his humanity and it was wonderfully, magically terrifying.

He gave her a small smile and wiped away her tears with his thumb. "I'll tell you what then," he proposed, gently straightening her ponytail, "how about I go with you so you can see that there's nothing to be afraid of. If you can be good, we'll go out for ice cream." It was flat out bribery, but he wasn't above using it if it meant getting her through the day. "But just this once, ok?"

He sat in the back of the classroom along with a few other uncomfortably embarrassed parents whose children couldn't successfully separate from them at the gate. He was hoping not to find himself in the lineup, but at least he wasn't one of the truly unfortunate ones who simply had to leave with their wailing, hyperventilating, panic stricken progeny. The school made accommodations for first year parents to be in the same room to ease the prospect of separation anxiety for as long as necessary. He found it nice compared to his public school's apathetic response, but he certainly didn't want to be seated in the peanut gallery for more than a day. That would just be blatant failure on his part.

He casually looked around the room, decorated as brightly as a new year's fiesta with numbers, cartoon animals, books, toys, and even a good sized plastic castle for playtime. The desks were constructed of dark stained, heavily carved wood and it reminded him of a junior Harvard- especially with the glittering beveled glass windows that obscured the view from the classroom onto the street below. The entire atmosphere smacked of wealth, power, and privilege. His homeroom in school never looked like that. It was stark white with cinderblock walls, cracked chicken wire windows, and small puke colored plastic desks. If his daughter was attending kiddy Harvard, he went to kiddy Level 5 and he graduated both with honors, something he hoped Jenna could do as well.

As he reflected on his own impoverished past, he was a bit envious to think that Peter may have started out in the very same room. How very different their lives were. He was born of privilege and almost unlimited resources while his own mother struggled to get by with spam sandwiches. And the more he thought about it, the more out of place he felt sitting among the wealthiest of the powerbrokers. The mothers that were there were bored housewives with nothing else to do with their day or worse yet, nannies who served as proxies of parents. He was the only father in attendance but it made perfect sense. The fathers of the children in the class were out in the world doing whatever it was they did to make them rich in the first place: prosecuting criminals, defending them, running fortune 500 companies or even the nation itself. In a way it sickened him to associate with the very people he had contempt for, but it was for his daughter's sake he sat there amid all the unspoken snobbery as though the kids weren't all wearing the same uniform.

It was the downside of Gabriel to feel so self-conscious, to feel that despite his desire to, he never really belonged among the more important, the _special_ of the world. Sylar had no such hang-ups and in fact, would be wondering why he wasn't served a nice refreshing glass of pinot while he kicked back and plotted his next move. It was a balancing act that he was still trying to perfect, but although Sylar could prove useful in boosting his confidence and blending with the well heeled, he was a dangerous genie to let out of the bottle and Gabriel was very mindful of that. The cork was barely in the bottle that contained him as it was, but with every mindless Facebook update or rapid, manic tapping fit on a Blackberry that took place near him, it wiggled it loose just a little more. Still, he found it in him to bravely smile at Jenna and quietly remind her to turn around and pay attention to her teacher when she twisted in her seat just to be sure he was still there. It didn't take long for her to gain her confidence and soon she was boisterously belting out "The wheels on the bus go round and round" with all her classmates, offering tips and critiques on the finer points of finger painting, and repeating some of the words to her favorite story from memory as the teacher read it. He knew it was petty, but he couldn't help but steal a boastful glance at his compatriots. _Yes, my daughter can count to 10. I see your child has a particular talent for drooling. Congratulations, you must be proud. _

If he regrettably found Jenna at times to be a drain on his energy, being in a room full of children tested the very limits of his patience and somewhere deep inside, Sylar's eye twitched in irritation. He secretly wondered if the teacher had a superpower that allowed her to withstand the migraine inducing effects of the constant shouting, crying, and vying for attention that a mass of them inflicted. As he endured the hours of torture, he wondered if Noah ever thought of putting his prisoners in a kindergarten classroom as a means to break them. It sure as hell would have worked faster on him than did the beatings, sleep deprivation, medical procedures, and starvation. He put up with all that Bennet could throw at him for days or weeks, he still didn't know exactly how long he was held on Level 5, but send in a gaggle of young children and he would have been banging on the viewing window and begging for mercy inside of an hour. He was never so glad to hear the dismissal bell even if it had surprising consequences. "Time to go home, Jenna!" He happily announced, repacking her supplies into her backpack for her. She could have done it herself, but he didn't want to spend one more minute longer than he had to in that room.

"No, Daddy. I don't want to go." She laughed, flying in circles like she was an airplane. "I want to stay here and play."

He was dumbfounded. At the start of the day, he didn't think he was going to get her to go in and now he had to think of a way to get her out. He had faced similar circumstances in toy stores and a few times it came down to him picking her up and toting her out of the store kicking and screaming, but he didn't like manhandling her like that if he could avoid it. "Did you enjoy it?" He asked with a broad smile, getting ready to spring one of his well crafted logical traps on his unsuspecting daughter. "Didn't I tell you it would be fun?"

"Yeah!" She giggled, falling onto the floor between the desks in a dizzy heap.

"Well, I did say that if you were good we would go get some ice cream. Do you still want ice cream?" He knew to never underestimate the power of sugar as a motivator. It was partly why he didn't make a habit of giving it to her- aside from the obvious detrimental health effects it caused, it was his ace in the hole and he reserved the sugar card for truly serious situations.

"Ice cream!" She shouted triumphantly, thrusting her fists in the air like a tiny cheerleader.

It reminded him eerily of Claire and his smile faltered a bit, but he recovered nicely. "Alright, then let's go. Tell Ms. Jackson goodbye." He instructed, gesturing to the young, overly energetic woman who was brave enough to lead the class.

"No, I want to stay here." She reiterated in a sad voice.

He thought he had the deal cinched, but she was going to test the limits of his creativity and he was up to the task. He helped Jenna up from the floor and approached the perky teacher with a congenial smile. "Hello," he greeted in a smooth tone as he extended his hand for her to shake, "I'm Gabriel, Jenna's father."

She eagerly took his proffered hand and gave it a vigorously firm wrenching that took him by surprise. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Carter."

He blushed slightly and glanced at the floor with a shy smile. "It's Gray, actually."

It was her turn to flush pink and she laughed nervously. "I'm so sorry. I just assumed…"

"It's ok." He assured her as he swung Jenna up on his hip so she could be a part of the conversation. "Jenna was just telling me how much fun she had in your class today."

"Really?" Ms. Jackson asked in a pleased tone. "You did really well today, Jenna. I appreciate the way you helped me by putting your things away when I asked you to."

"You're welcome." She shyly replied, burying her face in Gabriel's neck.

"So, Ms. Jackson, Jenna and I are going to go get some ice cream, but she would like to know if she can come back tomorrow."

"Of course you can!" Ms. Jackson smiled enthusiastically at her pupil. "I'm going to need someone to lead the line when we walk to the playground for recess. Can you can help me with that, Jenna?"

She smiled as she nodded yes, but she was clearly embarrassed by all the attention. Like father, like daughter. "Oh," Gabriel noted, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, "line leader. That's an important job. Only big girls and boys get to do that." He turned his attention to his daughter and asked, "Do you think you can do it?"

She gave him a determined look and a solid shake of her head. "I'm a big girl." She informed him.

He laughed along with her teacher. "I know you are, and you can show Ms. Jackson tomorrow. Now tell her goodbye so we can go get some ice cream."

He sat across from her in a booth in the neighborhood ice cream shop, having what he considered his first real father-daughter moment and it was sweeter than the orange sherbet that dribbled down her chin while she giggled. While all the moments that came before were important, he was finally becoming able to connect with her on a cognitive level- one that he was very familiar with. Peter may have been the king of touchy-feely emotion stuff, but he was the lord and god of logic. She was finally speaking his language and he couldn't wait for more. As he sat there in quiet amazement of his child and all the potential that she held, he dreamed of Saturday visits to museums, teaching her to play chess, browsing the shelves of musty old bookstores, and late nights laboring over homework at the kitchen table. Everything that came before was done out of a sense of detached duty, but now he felt as though he might actually enjoy being a parent.

He slowly ate his single scoop of vanilla, carefully listening with rapt attention to her account of the day's events as if she had forgotten that he was there watching her the whole time. Songs she sung, friends she made, the things she liked about her new school. None of the information was new to him, but he made it a point to give her his undivided attention because he wanted to set the foundation for later interactions, times when what she said and how she felt would be vitally important. Yes, he may have to wade through rivers of meaningless stories of colleague relationships and petty shifting alliances, but it was vital for her to know that he was there for her when the big issues came up- dating, academics, abilities. He wanted her to feel comfortable with discussing her problems with him the way he never really felt he was able to and so the first brick in what he hoped would be a well paved road was laid in the ice cream shop.

Later that night as he helped her lay out her clean uniform clothes for the next day, she proudly presented him with a crumpled piece of paper. "I made it for you, Daddy." She told him, hugging his leg with all the force she could muster.

"A paper ball?" He asked curiously as he held it at eye level and scrutinized it as though he'd never seen such a thing before. "It's nice, honey."

"No! You're silly." She giggled. "I wrapped it all up. It's a present for your birthday."

"But it's not my birthday. Maybe we should put it away until then." He teased her with a coy smile.

"Open it!" She demanded, realizing that he purposefully playing dumb. She was just starting to get the hang of humor and she laughed every time she realized that what he said wasn't really what he meant. "Today's your birthday."

He slowly unraveled the wad as he was instructed. "Ok, I guess my birthday can be today if you say so. I wish you would have told me earlier, I would have eaten more ice cream." Once the paper had been successfully untangled, he realized that it wasn't so much wrapping paper as it was the gift. "What's this?" He asked amused, taking in the finger-painted picture made by her hands earlier in the day.

"It's a picture of you and me." She proudly informed him. "At the park."

It explained the odd set of purple crossed lines off to the left of the figure he assumed was him. He must have been standing by a set of monkey bars and he hoped the red pool they were knee deep in was supposed to be the sandpit. His figure was much taller than hers and it never occurred to him that as tall as he was, he must have seemed like a giant to her when she looked up at him. His arms and legs were nothing more than stunted lines off a spindly stick body and his head was ridiculously large and misshapen, but she did provide him with a few spikes of hair sticking straight up like he was Pinhead from Hellraiser. His smile was wider than the physical limits of his face and his impossibly long, handless arm connected with hers while a yellow sun shined down on them. For all the errors in perspective and proportion, it couldn't have been more perfect to him than if DaVinci himself sketched it. He stooped down to hug her gratefully. "Thank you, Jenna. It's beautiful. I'm going to hang it on the refrigerator so I can see it every day."

"Happy Easter!" She squealed in delight of her father's affection. She loved making him happy and any time she succeeded was cause for celebration.

He gave her a curious smile. "Easter is in spring, and it's now fall. But I thought it was supposed to be my birthday. What happened?"

"Nope, it's Easter now." She declared triumphantly as though she were the queen of the Gregorian calendar.

"I'll alert the Easter Bunny." He sighed, resigned to the fact that he was really nothing more than an errand boy in her little world anyway.

"Daddy," she called without missing a beat, "why don't I have a mommy?"

He froze in his tracks as though he had been shot in the back. How could she so casually make such a leap? "Why do you ask?" He inquired, trying to keep the dread out of his voice. Of course she was entitled to know, but he thought the conversation would take place much, much later and he hadn't really prepared for it.

"All the kids at school today had mommies. Why don't I have one?" Her eyes were full of curiosity, but the content of her question didn't seem to have the gravity he was expecting. To her, it was a passing notation such as the sky being blue or Cheerios getting soggy in milk.

He returned to sit next to her on her bed, his weight making it groan under the strain of an adult as he slowly wrung his hands and licked his lips nervously. "You had a mommy at one time, that's where all kids come from."

"Did you have one?" She asked abruptly, cutting him off.

"Yes, I did, but she…" he furrowed his eyebrows trying to think of just the right thing to say so she could understand, "she went away, like yours did." _I watched my father murder the first and I killed the second. They all went away…_

"Where did she go?" She persisted.

What to tell her. Death was something that he was almost certain she couldn't understand, yet he had to explain it somehow without making it sound like a destination she could come back from at will. "Away." He blandly replied. "But she loved you very much." He didn't want to placate her with stories of angels playing harps because he didn't believe it himself and he remembered the bitter feeling of disappointment when he finally came to that realization just as he told Peter. Like many of life's preferences, he would leave her to decide for herself if religion was something she wanted to be a part of, but he wasn't going to necessarily encourage it. After all, it never stopped him from becoming a killer.

She didn't understand it at all, but 'away' seemed like a very bad place. "Are you going to go away too?" She seemed a little apprehensive.

He slowly shook his head. "Not for a very long time." He assured her confidently. _A very, very, long time._ "But you have someplace to go." He reminded her. "It's time for bed. You had a busy day and you don't want to be tired when you go to help Ms. Jackson out tomorrow, do you?" He tucked her into bed, gave her Mr. Bubbles to hang on to although he was getting a little ratty, and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead. "Goodnight, baby. You were a big girl today and you made me very proud."

"Daddy," she called after he turned out the light, "do you think my mommy and your mommy go to the same school now?"

He chuckled to himself at her rudimentary logic, but the very idea of it was funny to him. He didn't believe in an afterlife, but if there was one he imagined it to be like an airport terminal where people sat for hours on end with complete strangers, not realizing that they had already arrived at the final destination. If Stephanie had the misfortune of being seated next to Virginia, he could see his mother going on for eternity about how special, smart, and caring her Gabriel was to anyone who would listen. Stephanie and perhaps a legion of his victims, knowing him as Sylar, would no doubt beg to differ and suffer silently for the sake of being polite to an apparently crazy woman while they tried to work out a way to shut her up or switch seats with some unsuspecting soul who had just crossed over and didn't know any better. "Go to sleep, honey." He laughed as he quietly shut the door.


	6. The Sleepover

**Chapter 6- The Sleepover**

_Age: 9_

In some ways, Gabriel was glad that he was more or less immortal, because he couldn't hardly believe that his daughter was nearly a decade old. If his ability permitted him to age at a normal rate, he was certain that he would have started noticing grey hair or perhaps worse- less of it. But as it was, he remained stubbornly youthful for having a 9 year old child and he was well aware that the clock was running out for him in terms of believability and it wasn't just the casual passerby. He had received the odd compliment while in the checkout line of grocery stores regarding how young he looked to have a daughter her age. It was only a matter of time until Jenna herself started to take notice. To her, he and Peter were just constants in her life, people who were always around without much thought, but sooner or later she would start to realize that they never seemed to change like everyone else did and when it came to things like that, she was more perceptive than most.

As she was growing and becoming her own person, he was forever in amazement at the traits he recognized as his own. She was generally very quiet and observant just as he was at her age, but when she did speak she was often curious about cause and effect and patterns of behavior. She was keenly intelligent and spent at least some of her time perfecting her homework. Sadly, she didn't really need his help as he envisioned, but he held onto hope that at some point he could share his expertise on mathematics or scientific principles with her. He did get to enjoy trips to museums with her, and the two could get lost for hours among masterworks of art and artifacts of ancient cultures from around the world. She was her own entity, however, so he couldn't really relate to her desire to play on her school's soccer team, but he supported her and was at every game despite his general distaste for organized anything. Peter usually went with him both as a show of support for Jenna and as moral support for him because he probably knew that the sport bored him to tears with all the seemingly aimless running around with very few if any goals to show for it. It all seemed so futile and he often wondered why she wasn't interested in softball or even archery. But perhaps the one way in which she truly differed from him was in her social skills. He was in turns grateful and disgusted.

Gabriel never really had any friends, and despite being able to tolerate Peter's emo tendencies and general presence better than he used to, he wasn't sure he would really call him a friend. He meant what he said in Maria's kitchen about friends having unrealistic, unending demands, and he generally valued his solitude. Jenna, however, was something of a social butterfly and he didn't know if it was Stephanie's contribution or if it was simply because girls were predisposed to more prosocial relationships, but his highly valued peace and quiet was about to be shattered into a million bits and Peter was having a hay day over it.

"You sure you wanna do this?" He asked deviously, licking yet another envelope to add to the growing pile.

"Not really. Truth be told, I'd rather have my eyes gouged out and the sockets filled with acid, but," he shrugged with a sigh, "I've been through worse before."

Peter laughed as he checked his list again just to be sure he didn't miss anyone. "Are you sure about that? I mean, being strung up in a barn for running away is one thing, but are you really prepared for a sleepover with…" he paused to count his pile of invitations, "12 preteen girls all listening to sugary pop music and obsessing over the latest boy band all night? It won't be more than you can handle?"

Gabriel swallowed dryly as the inevitability of it all sank in. "Perhaps not." He glanced around his well ordered, neatly organized living space and imagined it littered with pink sleeping bags, Cosmo magazines, bottles of nail polish and cases of used make-up, and an endless stream of romantic comedies playing on his big screen TV.

"Have you thought about getting backup?" He suggested with a chuckle. "Someone who knows the arbitrary system of girlhood?"

"Emma?" Gabriel guessed. She had been around Jenna almost as much as Peter and had taught her sign language when she was young. She even came to a few of her games when she wasn't working at the hospital or traveling for the Chimera project. Gabriel may have been just a little unsettled at first with the way that Jenna seemed to adore them, but as she was getting older it occurred to him that he was fortunate to have other, perhaps more stable, people to back him up. They were even kind enough to let her stay with them overnight a time or two and he was secretly thankful for the peaceful night's sleep because he knew she was being well cared for. Jenna was old enough to know that they were not truly her aunt and uncle, but she called them that just as if they were and they never once complained.

Peter shook his head as he began addressing each of the invitations in the neatest penmanship he was capable of, which wasn't saying much. Years of hastily scribbling notes on charts in the back of a moving ambulance made it nearly as illegible as Emma's bonafide doctor chicken scratch. "I'm sure she'd be happy to help you out, but she's going to be in Oslo that week for a seminar."

"I really don't know anyone else. But you're right that I probably should have a woman here. I'm well aware that some people may be reluctant to send their daughters to a man's house."

"Wouldn't you?" Peter asked rhetorically. He knew full well that although Gabriel might have relented to such a request, he would be outside the residence, hiding in a tree so he could keep a close eye on her at every moment all night. "Anyway, what about Claire?"

Gabriel couldn't believe his ears. "Claire?" He laughed incredulously. "I haven't talked to her since the end of the war. Why would she want to spend the night here with me after all those years?" _And everything I've done to her…_

"She's actually been asking about you. I don't think she can believe that you've changed so much. Maybe she wants to see it for herself."

Gabriel wasn't so enthusiastic about the suggestion. In his mind, it would be adding salt to the wound to have an apartment full of girls _and_ an awkward encounter with a former cheerleader and revolutionary. Aside from her shooting him, the last time he remembered seeing her, he was laying on the floor in Maria's lab, exhausted from the raid and drained of his abilities thanks to S2, staring up at her while she tried to convince him to take Damian's power to save Peter. Of course it not only worked, but Peter later returned the favor in that tiny little cabin in the woods. The cabin where he not only got his life back, but made another with the very woman who he intended to kill so long ago. Desperation truly made strange bedfellows- literally. "I don't know…" he shook his head, unconvinced.

"C'mon," Peter encouraged him with his gentle, lopsided smile, "think about it. She looks young enough that the girls will relate to her- all the better to control them if they get out of hand."

"I don't think I'd have any problems controlling them." He defended in a menacing tone.

"Right, but you scowling at them and putting the fear of god in them is a good way to either get a few angry phone calls from parents whose kids can't sleep because they've been having nightmares since the sleepover, or a way to make Jenna lose some friends because they think her dad is a psycho." Gabriel seemed hurt that he would bring his past up like that. "I'm just being real with you, man. I knew you way back when and I know that you have tried hard to change, but face it- you still got it and you can pull that look out to great effect when you want to."

Gabriel tried not to grind his teeth in irritation. "And what look is that?" He inquired testily. For the most part he kept Sylar's overall look with the short, slightly messy hair and his penchant for dark clothing only because he couldn't bear going back to the Mr. Rogers khaki pants and sweater vest look. It wasn't only a timeless, classic look, it was much easier to coordinate. If he was feeling adventurous, he would occasionally switch things up by wearing a pair of dark framed glasses the way Damian did but that was the only remnant of Gabriel's fashion sense that he could live with.

"That one." Peter nodded, noting the pervasive darkness in Gabriel's eyes and the way his face tensed as though he were a caged animal waiting to spring. It was a little frightening looking Sylar directly in the eye after so long, but he recognized it immediately and it surprised him a little that his alter ego hovered so near the surface and could be so easily be summoned. He gave him a sympathetic look to convey that he didn't mean any harm and he quietly asked, "So even after all this time, it's still hard to control?"

Gabriel took a moment to swallow the darkness and let his head clear. By 'it' he knew Peter meant the hunger that drove him to become Sylar and although he fought it almost daily, it was a battle he knew he ultimately would lose. He just hoped he could hold out long enough for Jenna to grow up and be on her own before it finally claimed him once more. "Yes." He reluctantly admitted, hanging his head in defeat. "It's so futile, it's like trying to hold back the tides. It's an inevitability that I can't deny forever, Peter."

Peter felt for him. He had Sylar's ability for a time and he couldn't control it for 10 minutes, forget 10 years. "But what if you did?" He asked curiously. "What would happen if you could somehow never kill again?"

Gabriel let out a desperate laugh because it was all hypothetical to him anyway. Might as well ask him how long he could hold his breath in space if given the opportunity. "I don't know. Insanity maybe?" His mood grew somber and he looked Peter directly in the eye. "Or death. You know how you told me that people who are terminally ill sometimes commit suicide so they won't suffer?" He didn't finish his thought verbally. Peter was free to read his mind if he wished, but he felt the implication was clear enough.

Peter sat stunned. He never thought of Gabriel's ability as a terminal illness, but there were a lot of parallels. "Would you?" He asked in a hushed tone. "Really?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "If I knew there was no hope or relief in sight. What would be worse: me giving in and going on another killing spree, or taking my own life to spare all my potential victims?"

"But…" Peter stammered, completely in shock at Gabriel's seeming lack of concern for his own self preservation. What disturbed him more was the matter of fact tone he used that indicated that he had spent quite some time pondering the question. He shook his head in determination. "There are always alternatives, Gabriel. You don't have to do this alone. Would you really do that to Jenna? She already lost one parent to suicide. How would she deal with losing you that way?"

"I never told her how Stephanie died and I never said I would do it while she was alive, if I chose to at all. You gave me a hypothetical situation, and I gave you one." He smiled.

"That shit's not funny." Peter warned him with a disgusted glare. "Maybe it's my training, but when people talk like that I take them seriously."

Gabriel laughed lightly as he packed Peter's stack of invitations into Jenna's bag to take to school with her. "It's not your training, Peter. It's because you're an emo and you always have been."

"Have you always been an asshole?" He asked bitterly.

"In one way or another." He sighed. "You can't fight the future, Peter. Surely you of all people know that."

"What I know," he patiently countered, not letting Gabriel and his damn pessimistic logic get the better of him, "is that the future _can_ change. A long time ago I saw a future similar to this one where you were a caring father who turned his back on his past. I also saw you in a different future, one much darker in which most of the country was dead and you were disguised as Nathan and you tried to kill me. You could have gone either way, but that dark future no longer exists because I destroyed the virus at the Primatech facility, so don't tell me the future can't change because I've done it and so can you."

Gabriel bit his lip and smiled sheepishly. "Alright then. I'll ask the magic 8 ball. Any possibility that I can avoid this sleepover?"

"Not a chance." Peter laughed heartily. "I'm not a miracle worker. Well, for things like that anyway."

Gabriel spent the remainder of the week preparing for the onslaught of giggling, boy crazy girls by reminding himself that it was all for Jenna's sake and the whole ordeal would only last about 18 hours- a few of those hours being relatively peaceful if he was lucky enough for them to fall asleep at some point in the wee hours of the morning. He resolved to stay out of the way as much as possible and let Jenna and her friends have the run of his relatively large apartment while at the same time keeping a close eye on them to ensure they weren't getting into trouble. His command center- and the only area that was to be off limits- was the study, an area filled with books and his personal fortress of solitude where he tinkered with broken watches just to keep his skills sharp. On any other day, Jenna was welcome to join him to kick up her feet on the sofa and read any of his books that caught her eye and occasionally it led to some very interesting discussions, but for the night the area might as well have had a moat guarded by alligators because the last thing Gabriel wanted to happen was for one of the girls to end up with one of his many sharp watchmaking instruments lodged in her eye from careless horseplay while he called the parent in a mad dash to the emergency room.

"Dad!" Jenna yelled from the kitchen. "Do something with this!"

He entered his stainless steel and granite kitchen, efficient and gleaming, to see Jenna pointing at the refrigerator in absolute mortification. She was fingering the crumpled painting she made for him on his supposed birthday, hanging perfectly straight by a small clip on the door. He smiled grandly and teased, "I don't know, I kind of like it there."

"Daaad!" She whined, distressed that he didn't see the obvious problem with the arrangement. "I don't want the other girls to see it. You're going to embarrass me!"

"Oh," he chuckled, nodding his head in understanding, "you don't want your friends to know that you love me. I see." He approached the painting and took it down with a sad face. "If you don't love me anymore, I guess I'll just go put this in a closet somewhere."

"I do too." She hugged him tightly. "Just maybe put it somewhere else for now. You can put it back up after they leave." The buzzer rang and she looked to him in panic. "Hurry, Dad, they're here!"

He shook his head at his impatient daughter and held the incriminating evidence behind his back while he opened the door. "Hey," Claire smiled nervously at him. "am I late to the party?" She wore her blonde hair in a ponytail and it was just the way he remembered her minus the fatigues.

He gave her a faltering smile even as his eyes glanced at the floor to avoid her gaze. To anyone who didn't know them, they would have assumed it was a first date and he was a nervous if not somewhat shy suitor. "No," he answered quietly, well aware that Jenna was behind him and probably wondering who the hell was at the door, "fashionably early. Please, come in."

Claire clutched her purse straps that were slung over her shoulder just a little tighter as she entered his domain, perhaps a subconscious gesture or remnant of her general mistrust of him. Even after all he did during the war, it was hard to forget all that he had done and what he meant to her before. A little voice in the back of her mind nagged her that it was insanity to walk into a killer's home even if that was no longer who he was. "Wow," she exclaimed, looking around at his sizable, well appointed home, "I see you are doing well for yourself. It's a really nice place." _Certainly better than the holes and drainage ditches we used to sleep in, huh?_ Her eyes came to a rest on the young girl standing in front of her, taking her in skeptically as though she were an uninvited guest. "And you must be Jenna." She smiled as she extended her hand. "It's nice to finally meet you." Jenna made no effort to take her hand, instead looking to Gabriel for some sort of explanation for the intrusion. It almost made Claire laugh to see a child just as stubborn about casual social contact as her father. Sylar wasn't big on anyone touching him either.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Jenna to send a clear message that he was not going to tolerate her rudeness. "Jenna, this is my…friend…Claire." _Is that what we are now? _"She's going to help me with your party tonight." He informed her in a stern voice. "I expect you to show her the same respect you do your teachers or your soccer coach."

"You play soccer?" Claire asked intrigued. She was a little bothered by being labeled with such an intimate term, but she wasn't going to let the wary girl know that. "That's cool. What position?"

"Goalie." Jenna answered shortly. She was mindful of her father's admonition, but she could tell that there was something odd between them and because of that she didn't trust the interloper. She was surprisingly defensive of her father and anything that seemed to upset him upset her too.

"I could see that. You're pretty tall like your dad, I'll bet that makes it harder for the other team to score on you. Did you ever think about playing basketball when you get older?" Jenna was perhaps a bit tall for her age, but not freakishly so. Still, once puberty hit there was no telling if Sylar's genes would take off or not and if they did, it could be quite an asset in athletics. It was very clear she had a good dose of his genetics just by looking at her. She was a pretty girl with his dark features, but it was a little unsettling to have those very familiar eyes glaring at her with far more contempt than Sylar ever did.

"No." Jenna coldly answered a little petulantly. "I was thinking of hockey." It was the most violent sport she could think of.

Gabriel batted his eyes in shock at her. This was clearly the first time he was hearing of her aspirations and he didn't know what to make of it. "Hockey?" He laughed. "That's a conversation for another day. But," he lowered his voice and gave her another stern frown, "I still don't like your tone. Clean it up or else." She lowered her head in concession, but Claire could tell that it was far from over.

Claire happily manned the sign in board Gabriel posted by the door for parents to write their child's name and contact number in case anything went awry while he ordered pizza and moved the furniture in the living room to clear a wide space for them to do whatever girls did. Some of his furniture was substantial and Claire wondered how he was able to move it all by himself, but she smiled when she realized that he was probably just making it look much harder than it actually was since he was likely using his telekinesis to do the heavy lifting. Either Jenna didn't yet understand physics or she was under the impression that her slightly built father was some kind of Superman, because she didn't seem to think it was strange that he could move a fully loaded bookcase that must have weighed in excess of 200 pounds without breaking a sweat or dislodging a single volume. She made a mental note to get he and Peter to help her out next time she moved. It would be both cheaper and faster than hiring a moving company that would just end up breaking her things anyway. She could see it now: Peter could transport her belongings instantaneously from one location to another while Sylar rapidly put them away with a flick of his wrist as though he were conducting a symphony. She would just have to keep an eye out for her lingerie, that would be unnecessarily awkward and she wasn't sure she wanted Sylar to touch her things- even if it was from 10 feet away.

After all expected guests had arrived and turned his living room into an impromptu refugee tent city and humanitarian aid in the form of pizza and soda had been delivered, the adults retired to the study- with the door cracked in order to monitor the ruckus- and left the girls to dance, giggle, and gossip. Gabriel sat at his desk, leaving the sofa all for Claire. Over the din, they heard one of the girls say, "Jenna, your dad's kinda hot." There was a gaggle of laughter and another agreed. "Yeah, seriously."

"Shut up." Jenna sneered. "That's gross."

Claire glanced at Gabriel and covered her mouth to stifle a laugh while he turned pink with mild embarrassment. "Apparently my boy cooties have worn off." He lamented. "At least Jenna hasn't started noticing boys, as far as I can tell."

"But she will." Claire warned.

"I know." He groaned, massaging his temples in exhaustion. "I'm not looking forward to it."

"Wow, Sylar. I didn't really believe it, but here you are. I'm impressed." She noted the way he sharply looked up at her and then glanced nervously at the door when she called him Sylar. "Oh," she quickly retracted, "_Gabriel_. I forgot."

"She doesn't know." He confided, reasonably sure that she was too busy with her friends to have heard Claire's slip. "I'm trying to keep it from her as long as possible. That's just something I don't want her to know."

"Can't say I blame you, but you can't keep it from her forever. What are you going to tell her? What if she asks about what you did during the war? Even if she doesn't suspect anything, she can do the math and know that you and Peter both were around."

"I can't tell her the whole truth, but I can say that was around." _Yes, I was there, baby. I was the one leading the whole thing, really. I can't tell you about specific missions because it all ran together like the blood of all the people I killed…_

"And you think that will be enough to satisfy her curiosity?" Claire laughed. "So you what- just hung around while it all happened, not taking either side? She isn't going to buy that. Are you at least going to tell her that we were slaves?"

"I hadn't planned on it." He replied in an irritated tone. "That's a whole episode that I don't care to remember."

Claire shook her head mystified. "None of us do, but we can't just pretend that it didn't happen. If we do that, everything we fought for loses all meaning and it opens the door for it to happen again if there's no one to speak up."

"When you have children of your own," he growled in frustration "you can tell them whatever the hell you want. But forgive me if I don't want to tell her about being beaten, raped, starved, and living in fear every day of my life for months on end."

Claire's eyes softened just a little to hear the fresh hurt and anger in his voice after all those years. He still hadn't come to terms with what had happened to him. Predictably, he never reached out for help, to tell anyone he was in such pain. Instead, he bore it as best he could in silence and it was eating him alive. "So that's what this is really about." She said soothingly. "You partially blame yourself for what happened to you."

He averted his eyes miserably. Did he blame himself? Maybe. If he wasn't what he was- if he hadn't picked up that crystal to bash Brian Davis' skull in to take the first step down the path that made him into Sylar then he might not have found himself chained in Tipton's tent, abused but never broken. But no matter how hard he tried, the watchmaker in him knew that it was impossible to reset the clock and a part of him would always be beyond repair.

"Dad?" Jenna called, poking her head into the study. She took one look at the unmistakable sadness in her father's eyes and she glared accusingly at Claire. While it wasn't the first time his eyes betrayed the calm exterior he tried to project, it was the first time that they were so clearly filled with a deep sorrow and it frightened her.

He immediately put on his poker face, hoping that she didn't catch him in a moment of weakness. It was a side of him he never wanted her to see. "Yes, honey?" He asked, trying his best to keep the melancholy he felt out of his voice.

Jenna managed to pry her eyes away from Claire, equally trying to keep her suspicions to herself for his sake. She didn't know what the woman said to make her father so sad, but she hated her for it. "Brianna is sick. She wants to go home."

"Ok, I'll call her mother." He sighed. "Is she ok?"

"Yeah. She said her stomach hurts. She drank a lot of soda."

"That could do it." He smiled. "Why don't you stay with her until her mother gets here? Let me know if she gets worse."

"Ok." She agreed, happy to see that he at least smiled a little. It made her feel better. "I'll pretend I'm Uncle Peter. I'll save the day!" She announced as she bounded back into the room to render aid to her ill friend.

"Boy, she nailed that one." Claire giggled. "But I don't think she likes me very much."

"I'm sorry about earlier. She usually isn't that rude to people. Openly, anyway." He scrolled through his contact list looking for the sick kid's mother. Brianna was one of Jenna's teammates and he had the entire roster in his phone. He hated to admit it, but he was a fully-fledged soccer dad. All that was missing was the minivan.

"Don't worry about it. I think she might be a little jealous." She postulated. "In walks an adult female claiming to be her father's friend to turn her world upside down."

"Except we aren't." He cautiously underlined as he held his cell phone to his ear. "Not really, anyway."

"So I'm not your friend?" She asked curiously, just a hint of coy humor in her voice. She saw a rare opportunity to catch him off guard and she immediately seized on it. She could have never caught Sylar in such a logical conundrum even on a bad day.

Gabriel raised his eyebrow in contemplation. He realized it sounded crass to say no, but…_wait. Is she flirting with me? _He was so stunned by the possibility he didn't realize that Brianna's mother answered the phone and as he initially said nothing, all she could hear was him breathing. "Pervert!" She yelled before she hung up.


	7. An Unwanted Visitor

**A/N: Wow! So many new people have picked up this story this week! Flyingporridge, toolazytothinkoforiginalname (love it), and kingdomheartsforevs all joined in. Now if I could just get a review now and then… Cheers!**

**Chapter 7- An Unwanted Visitor**

_Age: 12_

Gabriel sighed deeply as he hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut tight. It wasn't the end of the world, but in a way it was and it caught him unprepared. It was almost as disorienting as finding a baby on his doorstep, although he knew this day would come. "Mr. Gray?" The school nurse's worried voice called from the other end of the phone. "Mr. Gray, are you still there?"

"Yes." He mumbled, still in shock and a little depressed. He leaned on the kitchen counter for support and his mind raced in an effort to come up with a plan.

"Mr. Gray," she asked hesitantly, "I see in Jenna's file that you are her only guardian. Is there another person you can call to maybe…?" She had dealt with the same situation before and she didn't want to imply that he was incapable of parenting, but she could all but feel his anxiety.

"I…" he put his head down and pondered the prospect of just admitting he didn't want to deal with it, but it seemed patently irresponsible. "I'll get there as soon as I can." He hung up the phone and heaved a deep, defeated sigh at his own denial. He should have known that something was going on- it was all in front of his face, but he didn't want to see it for what it was.

Jenna had been getting into small arguments with him over truly petty things, triggering bad memories of her terrible twos. For the most part, he reacted much the same as he did then: he calmly let her vent and when she was finished blaming him for the price of tea in China, he would remind her that her reaction was way out of proportion to the issue at hand. If she was really upset that he neglected to buy her favorite yogurt the last time he went to the store, if it truly was the kind of crisis that would cause a breakdown in international relations, then it could be resolved by her putting on her shoes and walking to the corner store. His sensibly rational suggestions usually were met with a frustrated growl, some wild gesticulation, and an accusation that he just didn't understand. She was right, he didn't. At all. To him, she was becoming ever more irrational in her arguments and he didn't know what to make of it. He sometimes couldn't follow her logic or begin to guess how she seemingly jumped from one topic to the next such as his not bringing home her yogurt being equated with his total lack of lover for her, but the common glue that held it all together was the fact that it was usually his fault in some way. That much he did understand.

But over the past few days, something had definitely changed the tone and pace of his home. Jenna had been acting frightened and she wouldn't tell him what was bothering her. Although she was becoming more of an enigma to him, he knew his child well enough to discern when she was bluffing without using his lie detecting ability and she was definitely hiding something. When he did the laundry as he usually did, he noticed that some of the clothes he knew for a fact she wore was mysteriously missing from the dirty pile and there was not one pair of underwear. It seemed unlikely that she would prefer to go commando, but he couldn't think of a tactful way to inquire as to the whereabouts of her missing skivvies. And then there was what he found in the bathroom. As he was cleaning that morning, he noted a smear of blood on the inside of the toilet seat, but he didn't have much time to think about it because the school nurse called and explained it all very clearly to him.

He made his way to Jenna's school the same as he had for the past 6 years even though she had recently asked him to stop walking her to class and charged him with purposely trying to embarrass her in front of her friends by doing so. To him it wasn't intentional, he was just keeping the promise he made to her on her first day of school, but he could understand how it probably made her feel to be the only kid who's parent did anything more than pause by the curb long enough to dump them at the gate and speed off in their Mercedes. But just because he understood it didn't mean he was ready to let her go to school all by herself. It was New York after all and at least some of her commute was on the subway. He wasn't about to let a 12 year old girl in a school uniform make the trip by herself to be felt up, hit on, or kidnapped by some pervert with a fetish. As he walked briskly, he gripped the phone in his pocket and debated if he should call someone, but in the end he decided that he would be responsible and bite the bullet no matter how unpleasant it was. As he jogged up the steps to the school, he reminded himself that he had accomplished harder things in his lifetime than this and it didn't kill him.

"Ah, Mr. Gray." The nurse greeted upon seeing him enter her office. "Glad you could make it on such short notice. We'll make this as painless as possible. Just sign her out here." She instructed, pointing to a blank line in the register. "She's in the other room. I'll tell her to get her things while you fill out the paperwork."

He gave her a grateful nod and picked up the pen held fast to the desk by a silver chain in his left hand. The pen was obviously placed with right handed people in mind since the chain was hanging across the paper he was to write on. He tilted the register just a bit so he could see where to write his name, the time, and the reason he was signing his daughter out of the school for the day. He paused to think about it, but quickly scribbled 'sick' the same as other parents had done. She wasn't really sick per se, but he wasn't going to indicate the real reason where just anyone could walk in and read all about it. Jenna turned the corner, clutching her backpack miserably with her uniform jacket tied awkwardly around her waist to no doubt cover her soiled clothing. She hung her head in shame and looked like she was about to cry. He immediately put the pen down and gave her a small smile to try to put her at ease and even reached out to put his hand on her shoulder, but she shied away from his touch and just kept walking. He felt a little hurt that she would react to him as she did when all he was trying to do was offer her some reassurance.

The nurse gave him a sad smile and whispered, "She's just embarrassed that her father had to come pick her up." In her experience, things went much better if it was the mother, or at least some other woman who could fully understand and in some cases even turn it into a positive experience by celebrating the moment, but she had yet to see it go well when it was the dad who showed up.

They took a cab home because although he didn't ask, he didn't think she would feel up to the long, very public commute home. The entire ride passed in silence with her looking out the window, the cabbie's exotic belly dancing music and incessant chattering on his cell phone in a foreign language their only company. It was a good metaphor for the situation, he thought. It was all foreign to him and the small space that separated them from one another in the backseat of the taxi might as well have been a parallel universe. He had the technical knowledge of the mechanics of female body function, but that did little to help him actually connect with her and allow him entry into her world. But, like all spaceflight endeavors, failure was to be expected before a successful launch and he couldn't let it stop him from trying to make contact.

Once they arrived home, she dropped her things by the door and went directly to the bathroom where he could hear her sobbing quietly over the running water in the shower. Every so often he would pause by the door, knuckles hovering, ready to knock so he could ask if she was alright, but each time he thought better of it. As much as she may have needed some comfort, she probably wanted to be alone to mourn the loss of her childhood. He never had to experience such a traumatic threshold. In fact, aside from the occasional unexpected physiological arousal reaction at school or on the subway it was actually fairly fun to suddenly understand his body in newly intimate ways. He never had to wake up one morning and wonder if he was suddenly dying, no wonder she had been so scared. But even though he could imagine what she must have been going through, he couldn't help but feel guilty for not being ready to deal with it. Scientific facts he could handle, but he knew it wasn't so clear cut for her.

He ordered her favorite Chinese food in an act of contrition, and although she still seemed morose when she finally emerged from the bathroom, she sat next to him on the couch and quietly tucked into her Kung Pao chicken while he nervously stabbed at his lo mien with his chopsticks. "So," he choked out even though his throat was dry, "today was kind of a big day."

"Dad, please." She pleaded. "Spare me the talk, ok? I'm embarrassed enough and it's not like you want to anyway."

"Well, maybe not, but I would like to know that everything's ok with you and I would rather you have all the right facts instead of going by what your friends tell you." He defended, feeling a little more confident. _Just stick to the facts- facts are comfortable and sanitary. Sanitary? Oh god…_ She looked to him skeptically, but he soldiered on. "Anyway, I know it must be hard for you because I can't really relate to your experience, but it's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone goes through puberty. It's just a part of life."

"Oh my god." She groaned, turning away from him and curling into a ball. "We are seriously not having this conversation."

"You see, when a girl becomes old enough…"

"Dad! Stop already! God!" She cried. "You're such a dork!"

He wasn't expecting such an angry outburst and he was certainly wasn't expecting to be insulted as he was. His eyes flashed momentarily with hurt because he was trying the best he could to walk the fine line between being coldly factual and trying to be supportive, but he was obviously failing at both. His eyes fell to his little white carton of noodles and he sat for a moment in silence to compose himself before quietly stating, "Jenna, I can appreciate the fact that this is a difficult subject for you, and I can understand that it's a little awkward for me as a male to be the one to have it with you, but what I don't appreciate is name calling. It's uncalled for and I won't tolerate it."

She narrowed her eyes at him and hissed, "Well you are and I'm not sorry!" She left her food on the coffee table, stormed off to her room, and slammed the door with a thundering clatter.

Dejected, he sat on the couch holding the noodles he'd lost the will to eat. Where did he go wrong? He tried to give her everything she wanted within reason, what did he do to deserve such contempt? All he wanted to do was to calmly discuss the facts about the way bodies change and normalize her experience, yet she was acting as though he was torturing her- and being very disrespectful as she did it. He tossed his container onto the table next to hers and reached for his phone to do what his instincts told him to in the first place. "Peter?" He wearily greeted when the call was answered. "I need Emma. Stat."

"What's up?" Peter inquired in a worried tone. He could sense something was amiss by the desperation in Gabriel's voice. "Everything ok?"

"No. It's Jenna." He sighed. "She…well, she…"

"What, man?" Peter prompted anxiously. "Is she ok?"

"Yes. Well, sort of. The school nurse called me today."

"Uh huh."

"I had to go to the school and get her." He slowly stated, hoping Peter would get the hint.

"Yeah…"

"God dammit, Peter." He growled in frustration. Any other time the emo would have guessed immediately what the problem was. "She got her first visitor."

"Her first…? _Oh_." He initially thought maybe she had the flu or maybe injured herself at soccer practice, but now it all made sense. "So you had to get her, huh? Bet that was awkward." He sympathized. He was thankful he never had sisters. When he played football, Nathan once had a nosebleed so bad at a game the coach shoved a tampon up his nose to stop the bleeding, but that was as close as he ever personally got to it growing up.

"You can't even imagine." Gabriel moaned, laying his head back on the couch. "I tried talking to her, but it didn't go well to say the least."

Peter couldn't stifle his chuckle at Gabriel's naiveté. "Wow. That was brave."

"Taking down facilities wasn't this hard." He grumbled as he massaged his temples. "Anyway, I was hoping that maybe Emma could talk to her. Jenna likes her and I trust that she will give her accurate medical information and not some crackpot theory of how not to get pregnant she pulled off YouTube."

"You mean douching with Sprite and jumping up and down doesn't work?" He asked rhetorically.

"Not funny." Gabriel warned in a low tone. He'd heard that one before and he was reasonably sure the only thing it would lead to was a sugar addicted fetus who liked thrill rides.

"I can text her and ask." He volunteered. "She's been working a lot lately since she took over as Chief of the ER, but she should be getting off in an hour or so."

"Or you can do it." Gabriel suggested with a wicked half smile. "You have all that medical training."

There was a short pause as he tried to determine if Gabriel was joking or not. "Well, I could," he cautiously said, a little unsure of exactly how his attempt would be any more successful, "but I'm a guy too. So…"

"Alright then. I guess the best plan is to just wait for Emma." He mocked.

"Or you could call Claire." Peter suggested.

Gabriel let out a disgusted snort. "I actually think it would be worse. Jenna doesn't get along with Claire at all. Claire's been over here a few times and Jenna either stares at her or just leaves the room. Even though she's never seen us in any romantic capacity, I think she believes that we are together."

"But she's never seen it because you guys aren't." He stated hopefully. "Are you?" He wanted the best for Gabriel and maybe having a woman in his life to help raise Jenna would be greatly beneficial, he just hoped it wasn't Claire. He couldn't help but feel a little protective of his niece.

Gabriel picked up on his anxiety right away and he allowed his dark side to come out for a bit. "It only makes sense, Peter. I'm immortal, she's immortal…" He playfully teased.

"So am I, but we aren't dating!" He countered.

"I admit that things have changed in regards to what's socially acceptable, but the fact remains that you just aren't my type Peter. I prefer blondes."

"Obviously." Peter huffed indignantly. "Elle, Claire, Stephanie…" He didn't think he could pull off dying his hair blonde, but he would do it if it meant keeping Claire out of trouble. Gabriel did try hard, but he could almost see Sylar's evil, twisted smirk behind his voice.

Even though Emma was exhausted from working a 14 hour shift, she smiled warmly at Gabriel when he opened the door for her. He greeted her with a small, shy smile and every time she looked at him, it only reminded her of how she was getting older. The long hours and the stress of her job no doubt contributed to the fine lines and beginnings of gray hairs that she noticed, but more and more she realized that time was marching on for everyone but he, Peter, and Claire. It was, after all, what brought her there. "Where's Jenna?" She asked softly, knowing how hard it must have been for Gabriel to be rejected as he was. She could see it in his eyes, a small admission of failure is what prompted him to call for her help.

"Still in her room." He carefully annunciated. Even for as long as he'd known her, he was careful to form his words precisely so she could understand him perfectly. Peter followed him to the kitchen while Emma gently knocked on Jenna's door to do her duty. "She looks exhausted." He noted, offering Peter a bottle of water.

He graciously accepted it and sucked half of it down in one go. He had a long day as well, but he couldn't turn Gabriel down- especially because he hardly ever asked for anything. "I teleported her here to save her some time, but I told her she works too much."

Gabriel scoffed lightly as he took in Peter's slightly rumpled condition. It looked like he'd been folded up in the back of an ambulance for days. "You're one to talk. Why do you do it, anyway?"

"Do what?" Peter asked with a curious expression. "Work? Normal people work, Gabriel. Even you tell people you fix watches for a living. Or are you a stockbroker? I forget…"

"Entirely irrelevant." He waved dismissively. "What I tell people I do and what I actually do are two different things. I can't afford this place on a watchmaker's salary, so I tell people I work from home as a trader so they won't get suspicious. But the point is, watchmaking is a hobby. I don't work and you don't have to either. You have the money Maria gave you on to top of what you had before from the Petrelli fortune." He stopped and smiled grandly. "Or did you give it all to orphanages and needy people in Central Park?"

Peter gave him a sour look. "Why? Wanna be my broker and invest it for me?" He asked sarcastically. He did give some of it away- sort of. Although Maria's gift was generous, Gabriel was right in that he had no need for it. Even from the beginning of the slave system, Nathan had- at least on paper- disowned his own brother and cut him off from the family fortune. But secretly, he always kept Peter's portion well hidden in offshore accounts until the time came when he could legally access it again, either by the downfall of the system or simply by outliving it. Since he had a considerable inheritance, he put Maria's money to what he thought was good use by giving some of it to Claire and using the balance to bankroll some of Damian's projects to better the lives of specials by offering education, healthcare, and legal assistance when they did run afoul of some of the more persistently biased and prejudiced judges and prosecutors.

"What I want is to know why you insist on trying to save the world one person at a time." He persisted. "Why bother losing sleep and enduring all the stress of scraping people up off the street when you know it doesn't matter? If you save them today, they will just die another time. It's inevitable."

"Because I want to, ok?" He frowned. "I like helping people. Why do you care, anyway? It worked for you. Can't you just be happy with that? I've put your Humpty Dumpty ass back together more times than I can count and I'd do it again if I had to because what if you weren't immortal? What if you were just some Joe who had the misfortune of stepping off the sidewalk at the wrong second and was hit by a car? Wouldn't you want me to come scrape your ass off the street and do what I can so you can live another few years? You might die sometime, but in that extra time you could watch Jenna grow up, wouldn't that be worth it?" He knew he cornered Gabriel by appealing to his emotional attachment to his child. "_That's_ why I do it. I don't work because I have to. I do it because I want to. Emma too."

"What are you going to do when she dies, Peter?" He asked grimly. There was no condescension in his voice, only apprehension- an unspoken fear that had been churning in the pit of his stomach ever since he found his child in a basket at his door.

Peter noticed the way Gabriel's knuckles were nearly white from gripping the edge of the counter so hard even though his facial expression was calm. "Grieve." He answered simply, but honestly. "Emma's not going to live like we will, but I'm not going to let that keep me from falling in love with her. You didn't let it stop you." His focus abruptly changed to the doorway and he smiled warmly at his life partner. Yes he would grieve, but he would enjoy every moment until then.

Gabriel turned to follow his line of sight and was relieved to see Emma looking so relaxed. "Is she ok?" He asked mildly concerned.

"She's fine." Emma reported. "Just a little embarrassed and guilty that she argued with you, but otherwise fine. I went over all the basics and gave her some money to go to the store tomorrow to buy what she needs. The nurse gave her enough to get by for a few days."

"So what do you recommend I buy?" He asked cautiously. He wasn't really up on the technical specs of feminine care products and he didn't want to spend time lingering in the aisle trying to figure it out.

"Nothing." She replied flatly. "Let her do it. Just give her a little extra money each month and don't ask questions." She smiled mischievously. "Doctor's orders."

Gabriel thanked her for her good deed and sat with a weary sigh on the couch while he rubbed his face and felt his rough stubble scrape against his palms like sandpaper. In his rush to get to the school, he neglected to shave and it occurred to him that he probably looked as bad if not worse than Peter did. He couldn't believe that his little girl, the tiny human that used to be so dependent on him, was officially a young woman. Time had gone by so fast he hardly noticed and he feared that the rest of their time together would pass with the same ferocious speed. It wasn't the fast pace of the ride that worried him, it was the abrupt stop at the end when the day would come that he stood looking down as her casket was lowered into the ground. Maybe Peter had some sense of clarity and serenity about it, but he certainly couldn't let go that easily and he didn't know how he would get through it, but it was very likely that on that day Gabriel would be buried with her and Sylar would be born again.


	8. A Hard Lesson

**A/N: Thanks for the review, Rose! It's nice to have a word of encouragement now and again!**

**Chapter 8- A Hard Lesson**

_Age: 14_

Jenna looked into the mirror and carefully applied the black eyeliner to the edges of her lids so as not to smear it. She liked the way the darkness made her deep brown eyes look more…menacing? Whatever it was, her dorky dad didn't like it but he didn't understand what was cool anyway. If it wasn't featured in a Sharper Image catalog or in Popular Mechanics, he didn't get it. He didn't seem to like much about her these days, and she in turn was starting not to care for him much either. It seemed he was always on her about the clothes she wore, angry because she pierced her nose without asking him, or lecturing her about her falling grades or waiting by the door to see if she was going to be even one minute late for her curfew. Her old man was a real drag and she was starting to think that there was more wrong with him than just being a clueless dick.

She never really noticed it, but her best friend Paige did. "Jenna, what's up with your dad?" She asked as she painted her toenails a bright shade of red one rainy Saturday. "I mean, something's seriously weird with him."

"He's just a douche." Jenna shrugged as she collapsed on her bed next to her friend. "No mystery there."

Paige laughed, but persisted. "No, seriously. I remember coming over here when we were like 10 for your sleepover. He looks _exactly_ the same. Isn't that just a little strange? I mean, my dad is looking older than I remember him."

Jenna scrunched up her face in exasperation. "How the hell should I know? Maybe he uses some kind of skin product or something. I don't really get off on looking at him the way you do." She was well aware that her friends had crushes on her dad and it disgusted her. What made it even worse was that he seemed to know about it. She could tell by the way he patiently smiled as he rolled his eyes when they stared too long or giggled too much.

But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The only thing she had to go on was a single photograph she had in her drawer that Brianna's mother took at their first soccer game seven years ago. The picture was meant to capture the two in action, but in the background was Peter and her father. Peter's face was mostly obscured because he had his hands cupped around his mouth, no doubt shouting encouragement, but her father's face was very clear: he stared onto the field with an intense expression although even she could tell that he wasn't very interested in the game. Paige was right- the only thing that had changed in all that time was his clothing. There were never any photographs of him in the house, so the only thing she had to go on was her memory, but she never recalled him looking any other way. Come to think of it, neither did Peter.

And then there was the scar. She had never seen her father without his shirt on, but a minor cooking accident changed that. He was being a control freak, as usual, making her do her homework at the kitchen table where he could supervise her while he made pasta for dinner with classical music playing in the background. He once told her something about it activating the frontal lobes or something, but she just took it as further evidence that he was a supreme geek. She didn't get why he couldn't just buy pasta sauce in a jar like everyone else, but he refused and insisted he make it from scratch even though it took him twice as long. "Need any help?" He asked, glancing between his pot and her.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "No." She droned as though he just asked a profoundly stupid question. She had been staring at the same math problem for the past 10 minutes and she did in fact need help, but she wasn't going to admit it. Then he did the thing that usually unsettled her: his facial muscles twitched like he had a scratch he couldn't itch. It was almost as if he knew she was lying and it always made her nervous.

"I can help you if you want me to." He gently suggested- almost begging her to let him. He might not have gone to college, but he had always aced his classes without really trying. Of all his subjects, math was his favorite and he was quite good at it. It came in handy for watchmaking and he supposed it would have for analyzing stocks, if he really did such a thing for a living.

"I don't want you to." She reminded him petulantly. She wanted to tell him to stick to pot stirring, but that seemed like inviting trouble. She had learned from experience that he would only tolerate so much insolence and he wouldn't hesitate to ground her for getting out of line. She bit her lip and smiled when he couldn't even successfully master pot stirring and the sauce bubbled up and splashed onto the white DKNY shirt she bought him for Christmas the previous year. He growled in frustration and moved the pot to the back burner to cool while he scrubbed the stain at the sink. "It's ruined now," she mocked, "might as well throw it away." She knew that despite the tension between them, he loved the shirt if only because it was a gift from her.

"It's not ruined." He doggedly scrubbed. "But I do need to wash it right away." He abruptly turned and made a beeline for the washer, slipping it over his head in transit. Even though she'd never seen him without a shirt, it wasn't really shocking since she'd seen many a bare chested man in advertisements for everything from cologne to lip balm. But what did surprise her was the fact that he seemed in fairly good shape despite never really going to a gym, and the brief flash of a good sized, noticeable scar just to the left of his sternum and a matching one a little higher on his back. When she questioned him on the origin, he stammered briefly, clearly uncomfortable with the question, and finally just vaguely told her that it happened a long time ago. She could only imagine it was something fairly gruesome. Maybe he was impaled by a tree branch in a car accident, or maybe he had some weird surgery where doctors replaced his heart with that of a baboon.

She sighed and ran her fingers through her dark hair. She recently cut it off into a short, shaggy mop that she sometimes styled into a pixie if she felt like it, but mostly she just left it as it was- no matter what it looked like. Some of her friends teased her that her hairstyle looked like her dad's, but it wasn't true. He spent way more time styling his than she did, but on the occasions she did feel like doing something with it, it was handy to sneak into her dad's bathroom and borrow his products even if he asked her repeatedly not to. She froze at the sharp knock at the door and glanced down at the black jar of styling paste resting on her desk in panic. She snuck into his room the night before while he was at the store and she forgot to put it back. _Shit_.

"Jenna." Gabriel patiently called from the other side. "Open the door." There was no lock on her door, but he tried to respect her privacy by allowing her to open it. There wasn't a lock on his door either, but he was seriously considering it. This was the umpteenth time she had pilfered something of his and the intrusions were becoming annoying. It seemed his predictions of her becoming a kleptomaniac were coming true. Today it was hair gel, but tomorrow it might be his credit card and he had to put a stop to it.

The door quickly opened and the missing item was thrust at him through the crack. "Sorry." She hurriedly apologized before she tried to slam it shut again.

He, however, was faster and managed to wedge the toe of his shoe in the door before she could close it. "Jenna," he calmly warned in his 'I'm incredibly pissed, but I will control it no matter what' tone, "open it. We're going to talk about this."

"Dad, I…"

"Open the door." He commanded. "_Now_." If she wouldn't oblige him, he could do it himself with the flick of his wrist…

She knew she was out of options. He was angry and he didn't get angry often. And when he was angry, it usually meant that there would be consequences. Defeated, she let the door swing open and she plopped down on her bed, shoulders slumped while he stood in the doorway like a vengeful god. Just past him, she could see Peter pacing nervously in the living room and rubbing the back of his neck, no doubt reluctant to be present during a family conflict. The fire in her father's eyes made her tremble inwardly with fear- there was just something about his wrath that gave her the chills, but he took a deep breath and blinked slowly until he was calm enough to deal appropriately with the situation. Even though his brooding made her fearful, she never could say that he ever truly went off on her when he was like that. It was bad enough enduring his lectures, she couldn't imagine what the darker side of him could do.

He pulled out her desk chair and sat opposite from her with a disappointed look on his face that was almost as bad to her as his angry face. "Jenna," he quietly said as he held up the item in question, "I thought we had an understanding about you taking things out of my room."

There was a sad quality to his voice that made her feel simply awful. "I know," she whined miserably, "but I was going to fix my hair and…"

He smiled lightly and his warm chocolate eyes softened. "I understand, but my room is my private space just as your room is your private space. If you run out of something, all you have to do is tell me and I'll buy more for you the next time I go to the store. In the meantime, I expect you to ask me if you can borrow something. That's all I ask, ok?" He reached out and gently patted her knee to let her know that he wasn't angry with her, but he did need to set firm ground rules. "But," he sighed as he slid the top drawer of her desk open to drop in the container, "you can keep…" He stopped in mid sentence when he spotted a plastic baggie in the corner of her drawer. "What's this?" He asked in a carefully measured tone, holding up the small bag full of white pills.

She felt as though she were going to vomit as she went pale. His sharp eyes were boring holes into her with a mix of shock and anger and she stuttered, "It's….ca..it's candy." It was the only thing she could think of that made sense. She certainly couldn't tell him the truth.

The back of his head tingled and his anger flared at being lied to about something so important. But rather than castigate her, he thought he would teach her a very valuable lesson instead. He let his anger subside and he slowly forced himself to smile nonchalantly. "Candy?" He asked surprised. "I like candy. What kind is it?" He untied the bag and looked to his daughter with a pleasantly curious expression.

"You wouldn't like it." She replied nervously, reaching out to take the bag from him.

"I could try one." He shrugged, popping one of the tablets into his mouth and biting down. "Hey Peter," he called to his unwitting accomplice, "want some candy?"

Peter came to the door and immediately assessed the situation. "No thanks," he declined as he tilted his head to read Gabriel's thoughts, "I just brushed before I came."

"Hmmm," Gabriel frowned as he looked into the bag, "kind of tastes funny. Bitter and a little chalky. Where do you buy this stuff?"

"I knew you wouldn't like it." She didn't really know what it was, but she knew that it was bad. Paige had left the bag there the last time she came over to hold for her.

She made another attempt to gain possession of the bag, but Gabriel deftly dodged her swipe by standing up and walking towards Peter while he ate a handful of the pills. "They don't taste all that great, but the crunching sound is kind of addictive."

Peter watched him chew with a skeptical expression. "You're mouth's all foamy." He observed in a worried tone. "You feel ok?"

Gabriel took his cue in the impromptu play and he lightly placed his hand over his stomach and grimaced. "No, not really." He admitted. "I feel a little sick."

Peter placed his hands on Gabriel's shoulders and looked him in the eye to treat him just as he would any other overdose patient. "Do you feel dizzy?" He asked in a compassionate, yet serious tone while he used his thumb to peel back one of Gabriel's eyelids to check his pupils. "Do you feel like you're going to throw up?"

Gabriel bent over and started breathing heavily. "Maybe." He panted. "I feel numb. What's happening to me?" He asked, appearing to be disoriented.

Peter hustled him to the bathroom. "I don't know, but maybe you'll feel better if you can get rid of it. See if you can gag yourself and make it come up."

Once behind the bathroom door, Gabriel gave Peter a grateful nod for his performance. "Do you think you can get me to the hospital?" He asked between making retching sounds and pouring water into the toilet to make it sound like he was vomiting violently.

Peter smiled at his creativity as he admired the realistic sound effects. "Is this what you did your first night at Maria's?" He laughed.

Gabriel looked at him dully. "No. That was the real thing, unfortunately."

He shrugged in concession and answered, "Yeah, I can get you to the hospital. Pretend we have to rescue you, but do you really want to scare her like that?"

Gabriel's eyes were hard as steel. "Absolutely." He could have lectured her about the dangers of drugs, but it wouldn't have done any good. Nearly losing her only parent? That was a far better antidrug lesson in his book. Real world consequences for actions even if it required a little acting to cover the fact that he could never get high, become sick from an overdose, or actually die.

"Ok," Peter sighed as he looped Gabriel's long arm across his shoulders to help support his soon to be sagging weight, "let's go." He struggled to drag Gabriel out to the hallway where Jenna hovered nervously by her door. "We have to take him to a hospital." He informed her, "Get your things. Hurry."

Peter sat between them in the cramped backseat of the taxi. He explained to Jenna that ambulance rides were expensive and as they didn't have health insurance, her father had to pay his medical expenses out of pocket. It was a gamble, but her father would just have to suffer until they got to the emergency room. Gabriel laid his head back on the seat and made small moaning sounds while Jenna glanced anxiously past Peter to check on him. "Hang in there, man." Peter encouraged him, "We're almost there." Gabriel winced and tried to curl himself into a ball in the very limited space he had while Peter kept a watchful eye on him and texted Emma so she could know what was going on and possibly help with the charade.

Emma was waiting by the emergency room doors with a gurney when they arrived. Peter didn't explain in his text message exactly what was going on other than to ask her to pretend to treat Gabriel as if he had overdosed on drugs. Perplexing as it was, she hoped that they would explain later and she could always say the event was a training exercise should anyone question what happened to her supposed patient that she didn't really treat. Peter helped her get Gabriel out of the taxi and guide him onto the gurney where he lay limp as a dishrag, apparently unresponsive. She looked to Peter and Jenna. "What happened?"

"He just ate some candy." Peter shrugged. "And then he started foaming at the mouth and vomiting. He said he was numb and then he passed out on the way here." Peter ran down the hall with the gurney while Emma jogged alongside, taking what vitals she could and they guided their cargo into the last exam room in the hall. She gave Jenna a stern, worried look as she closed the door and pulled the privacy curtain to block the view from the hall as she and Peter supposedly set to work rescuing her father.

Jenna's heart was pounding in her chest, worried that she might lose her father. Even if he was a dick sometimes, he was all she had. If he didn't make it, where would she go? She pulled out her cell phone and called the only person she could for help and the cause of the whole mess. "Paige, I am in serious trouble." She confided as she paced back and forth in front of the door to his room.

"Are you grounded again?" She giggled.

"I'm not kidding, Paige! My dad's in the hospital. He found whatever you stashed in my drawer and he ate like half the bag!"

"Whoa." She snickered. "He must be seriously high."

"This shit's not funny!" She cried in desperation. "He seriously could die! He's in a coma or something, I don't know. What was that stuff? I have to tell them, maybe it can help them make him better."

"Sorry about your luck, Jenna, but there's no way I'm getting into trouble for that shit. No way." She curtly informed her friend before hanging up.

Jenna sat helplessly in a row of chairs opposite his room and hung her head, sobbing. She didn't want him to die and she couldn't to a damn thing to help him. She felt guilty for all the times she yelled at him and all the mean things she said in anger, but sometimes it just came out and she didn't know why. She didn't notice that Peter had quietly joined her until she felt his arm snake around her shoulders and pull her close in an effort to comfort her. She looked to him with red, swollen eyes as the tears continued to stream down her face. "He's really sick, isn't he?" She asked in a shaky voice.

Peter couldn't lie to her. The game had gone on long enough and she seemed to have learned her lesson. "He'll be ok." He promised. "But he's lucky." _In the sense that something like this could never actually kill him in the first place…_

"It wasn't mine, Uncle Peter, I swear!" She pleaded with him to believe her. "It was my friend's. She left it there. I didn't want him to get sick. I didn't." She buried her face in his chest and began sobbing again. "He's going to be so mad at me."

Peter let her cry as he rubbed her arm. He felt bad for doing what he did, but Gabriel was right. Despite the deception, this was a far better lesson for her to learn. "Your father loves you very much." He reminded her. "And he'd do anything to keep you safe. Even though this happened, I think he feels better that it wasn't you in there, but it does sound like you need some new friends." He gently lifted her chin to look him in the eye and he gave her a small smile. "You're way too smart to get mixed up in that scene, Jenna. Believe me, I see it every day. You don't want to go down that path."

"So he's going to be ok?" She asked hopefully. It was a big relief to her to know that she wasn't going to end up in an orphanage because her dad died.

"Yeah. He's going to stay here for a little while, but you can come home with me and Emma." He promised while he wiped away her tears. He never witnessed Sylar cry, but looking into her eyes gave him a pretty good idea of what it would look like.

"Can I see him before I go?" She sniffed.

Peter bit his lip and glanced to the room beyond. When he left, Gabriel was lounging casually on the gurney with his hands behind his head, chatting with Emma about what the drug could have possibly been. "Let me check." He dashed back into the room and behind the curtain.

"And the winner is…" Emma announced as she read the results of Gabriel's blood test fresh from the lab, "ecstasy. Although it looks like you only have a residual amount remaining in your system. Pretty amazing considering you took what…12 or so tablets?"

"And I didn't feel a thing." Gabriel sighed.

"She wants to see you." Peter informed him. "She's pretty upset. I think you got what you wanted."

Gabriel looked nervously at Emma and she gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, we can make it look good. We've done it before."

He broke out into a wide smile. "Just don't cut me open this time. I don't want to wake up in the morgue."

Emma exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Peter. Even after so many years, they heeded Noah's advice of never telling Gabriel that it was actually Damian that did the dirty work. She gave a small chuckle as she hooked him up to the surrounding diagnostic machines and they came to life with reports of his pulse, heartbeat, respirations, blood oxygen levels, and temperature. She gently placed an oxygen tube into his nose and taped the end of a saline line to his arm to cover the fact that there was in fact no needle. "I remember a time when you said I couldn't touch you unless you were dying and now look at you facing your worst fears of being in a hospital surrounded by doctors." Peter couldn't contain his laughter at the memory of them with Matt right before they took the serum shots and the way Sylar steadfastly refused to allow her to examine him in any way.

Gabriel frowned at Peter before turning back to Emma so she could read his lips. "As I recall, you were frightened of me too. I remember the look on your face when you figured out who I was."

She nodded in concession. "And I remember the look on your face when you figured out I was deaf, but it looks like we were wrong about each other. I shouldn't have been afraid of you and you shouldn't have felt like I was a broken watch to fix."

"I didn't feel as though I needed to fix you." He quietly confessed. "It wasn't your disability that I was interested in. It was your ability."

Peter froze and he stared at Gabriel accusingly. "You actually considered taking her ability?" He cried in disbelief.

Gabriel's large eyes filled with sadness and he softly reminded him, "It's who I am, Peter."

"That's who you were." Emma corrected, giving his hand a gently supportive squeeze. "It's not who you are now. I forgive you."

"Yeah, man. I'm sorry." Peter told him, sincerely remorseful for bringing up the past. It was water under the bridge and he couldn't exactly hold him in contempt for something he didn't do.

"Thank you." Gabriel all but whispered. It was such a huge struggle and burden that it was nice to know that at least someone appreciated his effort.

"Absolutely." Peter beamed, happy to see that his apology actually meant something to him. "Now look sick so you can get out of here."

He let his eyes drift halfway closed and he took shallow breaths in order to look as physically exhausted as he could manage for feeling completely fine. As much as he loved Jenna, he hoped that she would make it quick so he could get up and go home. Emma was incorrect to assume that he was finally comfortable being around doctors in a hospital. He was barely able to tolerate the sterile smell and bright lights because it triggered too many bad memories for him, but he forced himself to do it to keep his daughter from making a potentially tragic mistake.

Jenna cautiously and timidly approached her father's bedside, looking back to Peter for reassurance several times during the short trip while Emma pretended to gather data from one of the machines. She stood staring down at him for what seemed like the longest time, her swollen eyes taking in the severity of the situation before she hesitantly reached out to lightly touch a fold of fabric from his shirtsleeve. He slowly turned his head toward her and gave her a small soft and lazy smile, almost as if he were in a stupor. Seeing him in the condition he was made her feel overwhelming guilt, but it was only made worse by the fact that he didn't seem to be angry with her for it. If anything, he seemed to be happy to see her and it was too much. She fell across his chest, hugging him as best she could for the position he was in. "I'm sorry, Dad." She cried while he gave her a few pats on the back. "I didn't mean to make you sick. It's my fault. I shouldn't have lied to you and told you it was candy."

"It's ok, baby." He soothed her. "You can go stay with Uncle Peter and Aunt Emma until I get home. We can talk about it then, ok?"

"C'mon," Peter invited her, "we can make a get well card for him when we get home, but he has to go to sleep for a little while."

She stood up and dried her eyes, noting the mess she left on his shirt although he didn't seem to mind that either. "I love you, Dad."

He gave her a genuine smile and his eyes lit up with pride. She hadn't told him that in a very long time. "I love you too, Jenna."


	9. Sins of the Father

**A/N: Shout out to NerdIsNerdy101 for the review! It's so nice to know that folks are reading!**

**Chapter 9- Sins of the Father**

_Age: 16_

Any warm and fuzzy feelings that he may have had at the sweet sound of Jenna's voice telling him that she loved him had long since faded and the sweetness had been replaced by acid. He didn't know what happened, and he had spent many a long night pondering it, searching for the exact moment when he made some error, some misjudgment to deserve this outcome. Yes, he had made some mistakes, but all in all he could honestly say he tried to be the best father he could. He put aside his own needs, sacrificed all he had for her, and tried to the very best of his ability, but there was no denying that he had failed.

It was as if someone had abducted his child and replaced her with some harpy hell spawn. She gave him dirty looks and only spoke to him if he forced her to, and even then it was nothing but vitriol laced tirades about how she wished her mother was alive and how he didn't love her or he'd let her hang out with her new friends until 2am on a school night. She was almost failing her classes, she often got into fights at school, and she inexplicably quit the soccer team even though she was probably their best player. She had a whole new group of friends- friends Gabriel didn't like in the least.

Gabriel was losing the battle and more and more Sylar was creeping in to deal with her escalating behavioral problems. He wanted to be calm and rational, and discuss what was bothering her so he could fix the problem because he well knew what isolation felt like growing up. It was one area in which he truly could commiserate and understand her, but she consistently took his goodwill as weakness, spit in his face, and did what she wanted to. Sylar didn't tolerate such things and he peeked out from behind his dark eyes any time she got out of hand. Sylar was the enforcer, the strict disciplinarian, and for the most part she always backed down at his cold, calculating stare. It was effective, but he didn't want to bully his child and he certainly didn't want to feel too comfortable or justified with being Sylar again. Although he had to admit, it was a feeling of absolute power and control that he hadn't felt in a very long time…and it felt divine.

They had finally reached the tipping point in terms of believability. Gabriel no longer walked her to school or ever showed up if she got into trouble. Her disassociating with her old friends was actually beneficial since he didn't have to talk to the very same parents he met on her first day of school. In essence, she no longer had a father that anyone ever met as far as society was concerned. He was now her older brother and she was taking that all too well for his liking. When they were in public, it gave her the opportunity to remind him that he wasn't her dad and she could insult him without anyone getting suspicious other than his death stare reaction or a raised eyebrow to let her know that she was on dangerously thin ice. He explained the necessity to her as the result of his having an ability, but regeneration was the only thing he admitted to. He didn't tell her about his IA, anything about his past, or the hunger. As far as he was concerned, she was on a strict need to know basis. But the need to know came much sooner than he expected.

Claire stopped by for dinner upon Gabriel's invitation. This was the first time he ever invited her over for anything so…domestic…but he had become comfortable enough with her to offer the meal in exchange for her valuable first person perspective. No matter how long ago it was, he still felt a tiny twinge of guilt every time he saw her for what he had done. He wasn't so much sorry that he took her ability as he was the brutal way he had to go about it. Even though she had seen her way to at least overlooking the incident if not forgiving him for it, he still couldn't help but feel a little awkward about it and wonder if at any moment she would pull a knife or a gun to get her revenge. It wouldn't kill him of course, but watching him writhe in a pool of his own blood may give her a certain measure of satisfaction. Strangely, he wouldn't blame her for it.

"So…" her green eyes sparkled as she watched Gabriel dissect a hot pepper, carefully separating the seeds from the flaming red flesh, "Peter told me you were quite the chef. I didn't know you liked to cook." She should have known by the way his kitchen was stocked by all manner of high end gadgets that it was for more than just show. It looked like a virtual catalog listing for Williams Sonoma. She couldn't even begin to guess what some of the utensils were for.

He glanced up and gave her a small, self-satisfied smile. "Does that surprise you?" He always did like keeping people on their toes.

"In a way." She willingly admitted. "I guess I just thought that you didn't really have time or opportunity to pick it up while…" her voice trailed off as soon as she noticed Jenna. The temperature in the room immediately dropped to below freezing, but she gave her a congenial smile. "Hello, Jenna."

Jenna just glared at her as she usually did. She might have been jealous of her at first, but now her dad's friend was just annoying. She was too perfect and like her father, seemingly stuck in perpetual youth. Peter was too, but she just couldn't bring herself to hate him for it. He wasn't a jerk like her dad or his friend. She knew that he was Claire's actual uncle, but he still let her call him that anyway. It was an unspoken competition of sorts. Claire could have her dad. Hell, they could run off and have a million children that all live forever as far as she was concerned. She didn't want to be a part of his life anymore and she wanted him to stay out of hers. Especially after what she found in his closet. "Whatever." She dismissively huffed at Claire, earning a tight lipped frown from her father. She didn't care. Not anymore.

"Jenna, that was rude." He curtly informed her. "She is a guest and if you don't like the company, you can politely excuse yourself."

Her eyes shot virtual hate tipped daggers at him. "Is that what you did?" She spat. "Did you politely excuse yourself after you murdered people at their dinner table?" She thrust a printout of an old newspaper article on the Walker case at him for his inspection.

He couldn't breathe. The air was literally stuck in his throat as he took in the press photo of James Walker frozen at his table in mid bite. Claire's eyes were wide and her mouth hung open slightly as she glanced at Gabriel and to the counter. She was at ground zero for an epic war and she didn't know what to do. Gabriel slowly put down his knife and swallowed hard. He was struggling to find a way to explain his actions, but how could he? How could he ever say that what he did was somehow ok? "Jenna, I…"

"Gabriel Gray?" She shouted. "You didn't even change your name? Wait, I guess you did, _Sylar_." Her mascara ran down her face as she cried. "How could you do those things? How could you kill all those people?" She demanded, her trembling hands clenched into fists at her sides. She dug into her pocket and removed a shiny gold bracelet. "Property of Maria Siegel? You were a slave and you never told me. You never were going to tell me _anything_, were you?"

"I wasn't going to tell you _everything_." He admitted in a quiet, pain filled voice. "Because there is so much that you can't understand even if I did." His eyes fell miserably to the floor. He didn't want her to find out this way… "But I was going to tell you when you were older."

"Older." She repeated incredulously. "How old do I have to be to understand that you're a murderer, Dad? That you're a liar?" He looked up sharply at her accusation, but she didn't care if he killed her over it or not. "Wanna know how I found out? I'll show you!" She raced to her room and returned with her history book. She opened it to the spot she wanted and pointed to a photograph of him chained to the beam before his execution. "I figured it out in class today when we were going over the revolution. Everybody looked at me when the teacher showed us this picture and said 'Hey Jenna, that looks like your dad!' But you know how I figured it out? Right here!" She jabbed at a small portion of the picture that depicted his scar. "I've seen that before! Regeneration my ass! You are Sylar, somehow you aren't really dead, and you have a hell of a lot more abilities than you told me." Her arms fell limply to her sides and she quietly wept. "You could have told me. I spent the entire day hiding in the bathroom at school crying because my dad's a monster and he never told me."

Gabriel inhaled sharply and his eyes were soft with guilt and misery. "I'm not a monster." He steadfastly refuted. "I did do some of those things, but not everything that you read about." She didn't want to hear his excuses and she was tired of being kept in the dark. She growled and hurled her heavy book at him in frustration, but went wide eyed at the result. He didn't even think about it, but his reflexes automatically lifted his hand and held the book in midair before it even made it half the distance to his head. Once he realized what he'd done, he gently lowered it to the counter and tried to think of a way he could explain the whole thing.

Jenna's shock quickly morphed into rage. "You _are_ a freak! You lied to me!" She shrieked as she ran to her room and slammed the door behind her.

Gabriel stood at her door, eyes shut tight to hold back the pain and the tears. "Jenna," he anxiously called as she sobbed on the other side, "Jenna, we can talk about this. Please," he paused to steady his voice, "please give me a chance to explain."

"Go away!" She screamed. "I hate you!"

He rested his forehead on the door and sighed deeply to ease the pain of having his heart ripped out. It was history repeating itself all over again. He was at his mother's door in her cramped apartment in Queens and he was trying to convince the person inside that his ability made him special and he needed them to accept him as he was, but both believed him to be a monster. His mother was dead, and he felt as though he had lost his daughter forever- she would never trust him again. All of his hopes and dreams of having a close relationship with her based on trust and mutual respect had come undone and unraveled right in front of his eyes.

Claire watched from the kitchen, unsure of what to do, but it was clear from his body language that he was absolutely heartbroken and she felt moved to try and help him in some way. If she ever needed any evidence that the man she used to know as Sylar had changed, this was it. The grieving, broken man in front of her who would do anything to regain the love of his child was proof that things were different. The old Sylar would never feel the need to explain his actions, let alone apologize for them. She carefully approached him and gently placed her hand on his back. "She doesn't really mean it, Gabriel." She consoled. "She's angry and hurt, but it doesn't mean that she doesn't love you."

He turned his head enough to give her a sad smile. "I deserve it. What was I thinking when I decided that I could raise her the way she needed to be?"

"That you needed a chance to prove yourself." She suggested. "That you could be an awesome dad."

"I'm not feeling very awesome." He grumbled pitifully. "I guess you can't outrun your past no matter how fast or far you go."

She gave him a patient smile as she tugged on his wrist to drag him into the living room. "Let me tell you a little story about a girl who discovered her dad had a whole other life than the one she knew."

He plopped down onto the couch and looked at her skeptically. "I think I've heard this one."

"You might know some of it, but you haven't heard the whole thing." She assured him as she sat next to him. "So this girl goes through life thinking that she has the perfect father. He's always there to lend a hand and offer advice even though he sometimes goes away at the last minute to deal with emergencies at his business."

"Is that what he called them?" He scoffed.

"And then one day, the girl finds out from one of his business partners that he is in some pretty deep trouble because of her. It's so bad that the partner has to take the girl away from her home to some unknown place."

He bit his lip and squinted. "Is this before or after I came to your house looking for you dressed like a ridiculous delivery man?"

"Doesn't matter." She replied testily. "That's not part of the story. Anyway, the girl eventually finds out that her dad has this whole other life that he never told her about. Some of the things he does is horrifying. He hurts other people and sometimes they just disappear. She only finds this out because someone really close to her was hurt by him."

He shook his head and gave a desperate laugh. "I know you aren't talking about me." Bennet certainly did a number on him several times, but he never once imagined that Claire would give a damn even if she was in the room watching while he did it.

"Doesn't matter." She hissed as she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Just someone close, ok?"

"Ok." He sheepishly agreed before changing his mind. "Wait, was it that guy you asked me to spring from the facility? What's his name?"

"Yes, now are you going to pay attention or not?" She demanded. "_Anyway_, the girl was really angry with her father for lying to her even though he told her he had a good reason. It wasn't until she got older that she understood why he did it. He really was trying to let her have a normal life."

"So the moral of the story is that I have to wait it out." He summed grimly. "Great. I'll keep telling myself that for the next two years."

Claire shook her head in utter disbelief. "You are such a pessimist, I swear. She'll come around, Gabriel, you have to believe that. Trust me, it's not easy to be in her position and even less so now that she knows about who you used to be. How would you feel if your dad was some kind of super powered unstoppable force?"

Gabriel rubbed his face in exhaustion and mumbled into his hands, "He was."

She sat stunned staring at him. "He…what?" She asked numbly. She knew it seemed stupid, but she never considered him having parents. Not in any real sense. Sylar was just this…thing…that always existed in isolation just the same as it was all too easy for her and the others to forget that he had feelings too- feelings that apparently ran deep for him to still be scared from the war.

He glanced at her, but his eyes fell downward in a sense of shame when he realized that she didn't know about his past. She always believed he was some kind of monster too. His mouth twitched a few times while he got up the courage to tell her about himself. He didn't know what the outcome would be: maybe she would feel sorry for him, or maybe she would think that he was making excuses, but no matter her reaction, he considered it practice for when Jenna was ready to listen. "My um…" he licked his lips nervously as he stared at the coffee table, "my father, my _biological_ father was like me." He laughed at his own mistake. "Rather, I am like him. We have the same ability to gather powers from others."

Claire listened to every syllable that fell from his lips with her full attention. She couldn't believe that he was confiding in her and she found herself deeply curious about his early years and knowing that he and his father had the same ability was amazing. So the world had a ruthless serial killer in it before Sylar… She wondered if he learned the tricks of the trade from him. "So it worked the same?" She asked delicately, "I mean. Did he…" She hoped she wasn't pushing him too far too fast and it was a delicate subject.

"Yeah, I think so." He nodded. "At least he tried to cut my head open with a knife after he found out I had your ability to heal." He noticed the look of sadness on her face and he explained. "It's a convoluted story, but the long and short of it is that he sold me to my uncle when I was young. I never saw him again, but I met Luke who knew him."

"So that's how you and Luke know each other." She laughed. "I always wondered."

"We were on the road together for two days, but to him it was as if we went across the country like a pair of roadies for the Grateful Dead. He told me where my father was living and I went to see him."

"Awkward, isn't it?" She sighed. "Sitting in the car, wondering if you have the right address. Wondering what the hell do you say to someone who gave you away in the first place?"

Gabriel's eyes were unexpectedly soft. She understood what it was like. For once, someone got it. "Exactly. As it turned out, he was dying of cancer. Not quite the reunion I was hoping for." He shook his head sadly and gave her a pained smile. "After all that time, he never once wondered about what happened to me. He simply didn't care- until he figured out that I had the same ability he did. He wanted my powers, so he shot me in the shoulders with a crossbow and was going to cut my head open with a hunting knife."

"That's awful. Where was your mother in all that?" She couldn't imagine a mother letting her child be brutalized in such a fashion no matter how old he was. It was against all human nature.

"I watched him kill her the day he sold me." He quietly replied. "But I really don't remember her other than that."

"So obviously you escaped." She was beginning to understand why he acted the way he did if what he was saying was true. "What happened next?"

"Nothing." He shrugged, devoid of all emotion. "I left him there to die the slow death he deserved."

"Ok." Claire sighed, almost breathless by the revelation she just had. "So given that, can you at least understand how Jenna feels?"

"Of course I understand, but that doesn't help me fix the situation." He had learned time and again that logic didn't always give him the answers he needed. When he didn't have logic, he was a little lost because the solution wasn't always as clear and it was supremely frustrating.

"You fix it by doing what you just did." She connected the dots for him. "Jenna isn't going to care right away about why you did what you did. She's not going to care that during the war you did what had to be done, including accepting blame for things you didn't do. She isn't going to understand that we all had to operate within a secret system in the government and all the backdoor deals that were involved. All she's going to care about is that her father still loves her and is at least partially willing to share some of his life with her. It might be uncomfortable, but if you don't you'll end up becoming a one dimensional construct to her as Sylar was to us. You don't have to bare your soul to her and tell her all of the really awful things that you experienced, but find something that you can share with her to let her know that she's still important in your world no matter what goes on."

He took her advice to heart and although it was incredibly frightening for him, he tried to make peace with his daughter over a pint of ice cream a few days later at the same neighborhood shop that they went to on her first day of school. "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry for perhaps waiting too long to tell you about myself." He swallowed nervously as he aimlessly poked at his scoop of melting vanilla. "I'm not sure really when I thought you would be old enough, but I realize that in waiting I've not only made things worse, but I also indirectly insulted your intelligence. I didn't want you to find out that way."

"You mean you didn't want me to find out at all." She shot back bitterly.

"Knowing what you do now, how would you feel if you were me?" He aimed to keep the conversation civil and he realized that for a good majority of it, he would be repeatedly falling on his own sword. "I'm not proud of what I did before the war, but since then I have worked incredibly hard to change. Believe me when I tell you that I have paid for my crimes in many ways. But ever since you came along, things have been different for me. I'm not the person you read about in your history book." He never really was, for that matter. "I can't expect you to absorb this overnight, but I do want to be as open and honest as possible, something I know I haven't done but you deserve. I just hope that at the end of it all, you can understand why it's been a little difficult for me to be the dad you wanted. So," he steeled his nerves and quickly swallowed a bite of his ice cream, "is there anything you would like to ask me?"

She couldn't tell if he was serious or not. He had been living out in the open for years, so if there were any crimes to pay for, someone would have arrested him by now she reasoned. He did mention the war and that interested her, so she tested the waters with what she thought was a fairly benign query. "Who was Maria Siegel?"

Gabriel broke out into a wide smile and his eyes sparkled with fondness. "Maria." He sighed contentedly. "She was a very special person."

Jenna was encouraged by the way he seemed so relaxed and happy to relate a part of his past to her. "She was a special?" She asked intrigued.

"No, she was a special person." He corrected as he sat back in the booth to get comfortable for the long story. "You see, back when the slave system started, I was traveling on my own around New Orleans….


	10. Dance with the Devil

**A/N: Awesomesauce! John and RalynnFrost checked in! Thanks guys!**

**Chapter 10- Dance with the Devil**

_Age: 17_

It had been a long, hard road, but Gabriel wouldn't have changed it for all the world. Over the past year, he and Jenna had worked hard to rebuild their relationship and it took a lot of unflinching honesty on his part and a lot of forgiveness and understanding on hers, but things were much better between them for it. Peter and Emma even shared their perspectives on the war with her- as much as Gabriel was comfortable. Peter didn't tell her how he spent long hours furiously trying to put her father's body back together with limited medical supplies and a lot of prayer, or how he was literally a heartbeat away from death after Jessup got through with him, but he did tell her that he helped care for those who needed it. One thing that couldn't be sidestepped was his execution, so Gabriel did explain how it was all carefully planned and although Peter and Emma were involved, they were just doing what had to be done.

Jenna was feeling as though she understood him better and even though it wasn't a rosy picture, she slowly came to realize that what her dad and the others did during the war was actually pretty brave. Her animosity toward Claire had even subsided when she found out that she was out there fighting alongside everyone else. She never imagined Claire to be so badass and ever so slowly, one small friendly glance led to small talk, which led to gently probing questions until she actually began to like Claire and stayed in the room when she came to visit. It was surprising, but she actually looked forward to their first girl's day out. She could remember the moment very clearly. She found her father reading in the study. "Dad," she called in a saccharinely sweet voice, "you know that Claire's going to be here any minute…"

Gabriel put down his book and noted the disingenuous smile she wore on her face that alerted him to ulterior motives- one of the financial fleecings that Nathan warned him about was afoot, he could just sense it. He raised his eyebrow and inquired, "Are you worried she'll forget where we live? Should I send out a search party?"

She slyly smiled as she stood behind his chair and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder like she used to when she was a small child. "Prom is coming up, and all the girls will have new dresses to wear…" She informed him suggestively.

"I see…" He playfully teased. "We can go down to the thrift store and see if we can find something for you if it's that important." He couldn't stop the twisted smirk that curled his lips.

"Daaad!" She whined as she hugged him tighter.

"Ok, a dumpster then." He chuckled, turning the page of his book.

"Daaaaaaad!"

He sighed and closed his book. "And I suppose this dress will require new shoes and jewelry to go with it as well?" He never went to prom, but it was grossly unfair. The girls had to spend so much money while the guys just had to pay for a tuxedo rental and a corsage. Not bad if you're the date, but it was a nightmare if you're the dad.

"And hair and makeup." She mumbled into his shoulder.

"Of course." He rolled his eyes as he dug into his pocket and produced what she wanted: his credit card, which had the terrifying perk of having no spending limit.

"Thanks, Dad." She beamed as she gave him a quick peck on the temple and plucked her golden ticket from his hand.

"Get something nice, nothing too revealing." He instructed her with wary warning glare. "Do you have a date yet?"

"Not yet, but even if no one asks me I'll go by myself." She replied as she skipped to the door.

The entire encounter amazed him- on several levels. She had become such an independent young woman who didn't necessarily fall into the social traps that others her age did. She wanted to fit in, but it wouldn't ruin her day if she didn't. She was something of a free spirit and that he knew for a fact came from her mother. He was amazed that it was Claire that took her around the city on his behalf so as to spare him the nightmare Nathan described of endless hours and dresses while he waited, holding her purse. But if all those things were amazing, it was pure shock and awe when he got his credit card bill and seen how much a girl's day out could cost.

But as he stood looking at his beautiful daughter all dressed up and simply radiant, he forgot all about it. Nothing could have wiped the doting smile from his face at the sight of her in her finest formal wear, excited about attending the biggest dance of her life and embarrassed that her Uncle Peter and Aunt Emma refused to put the camera down. He couldn't stop staring at her as if she were some perfect angel and he just couldn't believe that she was his child. She had grown up so fast and although she clearly resembled him, the older she got the more he could see Stephanie's features. In a way, he wished that she was there to see their daughter. Stephanie, like Emma, would be showing the signs of aging but he could imagine her eyes would be all misty with tears for the moment.

Gabriel took the liberty of opening the door for her date, and he didn't like what he saw. It wasn't anything overt such as facial tattoos or a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, but it was something else entirely- something eerily familiar in his eyes that sent up red flags for him. The kid looked like a standard clean-cut boy next door, but his eyes spoke of ill intent and Sylar stepped out into the hallway to have a little conversation with him. He wanted him to be absolutely clear on the ground rules. The boy took a step back and looked up while Sylar towered over him with a deep and sincere scowl. There was no question that he meant business. "What's your name?" He asked in a low rumble.

"Jason Bently." He quickly answered, at last a little amused with the overprotective act by Jenna's brother.

"Jason, I'm going to tell you this one time and I'm going to make it exceedingly clear." He growled. "If you had even a passing notion of treating Jenna as anything but the Queen of the Universe tonight, if you have even the faintest idea of harming her in any way, if she comes home tonight and it hasn't been the best night of her entire life, I can promise you that you might not live to regret it. And before you think that this is just like every other idle threat you've heard before, just know that I can and will follow through with it. Don't make me come find you. Am I understood?"

"Da…Gabriel." Jenna's voice called from behind him. She never felt right calling him by his name, but she knew they couldn't afford any slip ups. After what he'd told her he had to do in order to gain some measure of a normal life, she didn't want to blow it for him. "Don't embarrass me, ok?"

He turned his back on her date and took his girl by the shoulders. "Take your cell phone with you and you call me if anything happens." He instructed her in a low tone. "Promise me you'll call me immediately."

"Ok." She griped, turning several shades of pink. "I have to go, we're going to be late."

Everything in him screamed not to let her go, but he swallowed it down and chalked it up to nerves as he gave her a brief smile. "You look great." He bravely told her. "Have a good time." He wanted to give her an affectionate peck on the cheek, but he was well aware that social convention didn't allow such things between siblings, so he settled on a gentle hug. "Call me." He whispered into her ear.

She rolled her eyes and huffed at his insistence. She understood that he sort of had to be the tough guy in front of her date and in some ways she expected it, but his paranoia was a little odd. It wasn't just the way he insisted she contact him at the first sign of trouble because he taught her at a very early age to look out for herself, but she could feel it in his muscles when he hugged her. There was a certain wiry tension that belied his calm exterior as if he were on edge and waiting for disaster. She turned to wave at the group she considered her family as the couple waited for the elevator. "Jesus, Jenna," Jason muttered under his breath, "your brother's kind of a dick hole."

Several hours later, Gabriel blinked at the ceiling in a thick haze of semi-consciousness. He knew Jenna wasn't going to be home at any decent hour, so he decided to leave a light on for her and go to bed. He wasn't Pollyanna about the entire thing, however. Even though he didn't go to prom himself, he knew what went on after the dance and as uncomfortable as it was, he sat Jenna down and had a talk with her. He tried to be as open minded as possible, telling her that although he strongly prefer she not, he could accept the fact that she may chose to drink and perhaps even have sex. Both things should be done with careful consideration, preparation, and moderation, but never together. That's what got him in trouble, but he never told her that part. With that in mind, he gave her money for a taxi, condoms, and a can of mace in the event that some lug head didn't take no for an answer.

What woke him was the vibration of his phone. He actually kept it in the bed with him just in case he didn't hear it ring, and the buzzing shook the bed. He could see now why although Emma could see swirling colors of a ringing phone, she chose to turn it off in favor of being shaken. There was just no ignoring it. He fished the phone of out of the tangled covers and squinted at the brightly lit screen. It was 3:47am and it wasn't Jenna. In fact, he didn't even recognize the area code, but something told him to answer it. He wished he hadn't, because it was every parent's worst nightmare.

A bored sounding man asked, "May I speak to Mr…" there was a pause and the sound of shuffling papers, "Gabriel Gray?"

"Speaking." He suspiciously replied. His mind raced with possibilities. Was she sitting in a jail? Was it the manager of some seedy motel calling to get authorization for his credit card?

"We are calling to inform you that your daughter," more shuffling noises and the pained screaming of someone in the background sent a spike of fear through his chest, "Jenna Carter was brought into the emergency room about an hour ago."

He sat up so fast his head swam. "What happened?" He asked in a barely controlled panic. "Is she alright?" _Damn it! I knew I shouldn't have let her go. Now she's laying in a hospital somewhere and it's my fucking fault!_

"I can't give you any information, Mr. Gray. Perhaps it's best if you can come to the hospital. I see you live in Manhattan. Do you have transportation?"

He was still stewing over the fact that the prick called to tell him his daughter was having some medical emergency, but wouldn't tell him if she was dying or if she had a paper cut. "What? Yes, I can. Where is she?"

"Newark General."

"Newark?" He cried incredulously. "New Jersey? How in the hell did she get there?" He was frantically digging through his drawers and closet trying to assemble something decent to wear, figure out where he was going to get a car at that hour, formulating hypotheses on how his daughter wound up in a hospital in another state, and making mental notes to call Peter as soon as he hung up. His attention was almost literally being drawn and quartered.

"I have no idea, Sir." The clerk sighed. He probably dealt with at least 20 people a night who thought he was some kind of mind reader.

An hour later, Peter deeply frowned as Gabriel careened them through the streets and tunnels of the city, wondering if perhaps he should have driven…or simply teleported them. He reached up to tightly grip the handle by the door and thanked his stars that should they wreck, they would both survive, but even with that knowledge he was still just a little frightened. If only the lady at the car rental counter knew what he was doing to their poor car…

The hospital was one of the last remaining state funded public care facilities and it showed. The building was old and the floors were barely clean. The windows had been barred and the intake desk was completely encased in Plexiglas to protect the staff. Once at the hospital, they were made to suffer the further indignity of having to wait in the hall. Apparently, Jenna wasn't ready to be released or transferred and the staff was shockingly jaded and indifferent to her worried father's repeated inquiries. He tried valiantly to keep his composure, but no one was giving him any information whatsoever and he was quickly losing patience. He didn't know if she was dying or perhaps already dead. When the desk grew tired of his persistence and threatened to have him arrested by security staff, Peter stepped up to intervene. "C'mon, man," he invited, pulling Gabriel away before he simply used his telekinesis to rip the glass off to get to the clueless clerk, "have a seat."

Gabriel's nostrils flared with indignation as he glared at the clerk. "Why won't they tell me anything?" He asked, not even trying to hide his inner fear.

"Just relax, it's a big hospital and sometimes the staff doesn't always have the information you want." He soothingly replied.

"So that gives them the right to blow me off?"

"No, but it does give me the opportunity to get the information for you. Just sit tight." He instructed with a sly smile. He vanished in a shimmering wave, leaving Gabriel looking around a little confused. Knowing no one could see him, he marched right up to the admitting doors and waited for a doctor to open them so he could slide through and read each cart until he found hers. Being an older hospital, there were no exam rooms per se, only rows of beds separated by thin curtains. Jenna lay on her gurney, seemingly asleep and looking like hell. She had an angry cut above her eye and bruises on her face, looking like she took a beating and he had to look away. He slipped her chart off the end of the bed and ducked into a supply closet to read the grim news.

Gabriel's eyes widened just a little when Peter casually walked around the corner as though he was in the restroom the whole time. There really was no need to, but he looked around to see if anyone was suspicious of his disappearing act. When he took a seat next to him, he anxiously whispered, "Did you find her?" Peter indicated he did, frustrating the hell out of him that he had to ask, "_Well_?" He should have known that he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear by the look on Peter's face.

"According to her chart, the local police found her in an alley unresponsive. They brought her in, ran some tests, and figured out that she'd been drugged." He could all but see the nuclear fury building behind Gabriel's eyes. "They ordered a rape kit." He quietly added.

"No…" Gabriel quietly pleaded as he clenched his fists in an effort to contain his rage.

Peter put up his hands in a defensive manner to try and calm him. "It's standard procedure, Gabriel. Especially if drugs are involved and especially if it's a woman. It doesn't necessarily mean anything, ok?" He wasn't even sure Gabriel heard him, he seemed locked into some kind of inner cycle and he knew exactly what that look was: he was plotting. "Gabriel?" He called, waving his hand in front of his partner's static, unblinking eyes. "Hey, you still with me?"

Gabriel blinked ever so slowly and seemed eerily calm and that worried Peter deeply. He could almost feel the coldness of Sylar radiating off him and he didn't know if he could stop him should this prove to be his breaking point. Maybe deep down Gabriel knew this might happen and maybe it was his reason for asking him to come. But as the time passed, he quietly sat there in support of his former nemesis, not really blaming him for wanting to seek justice for whoever hurt his daughter. The perpetrator had no idea who they were tangling with and Peter couldn't honestly say he felt sorry for them. Just like Arthur Jessup, there were some people who didn't deserve to be in the world.

When Jenna was stable enough to stand on her own for a few seconds without assistance, she was released. The waiting room was full of people needing care and as soon as she rolled out of her bed, someone else took her place. No one noticed or seemed to care about the young woman who stumbled down the hall in her torn and dirty dress, disheveled and crying. The moment the department doors opened and he laid eyes on his child, Gabriel sprung to his feet and all but ran to her. Mindful of her condition, he held her gently while she cried, stroking her hair and whispering encouragement into her ear to calm her and make her feel safe just as he used to when she was a small girl. No matter what happened before, he was there to protect her.

Peter patiently waited for them to separate, her sniffling miserably and he with a soaked shirt before approaching to give her a supportive embrace as well. She was grateful for his compassion, and he pushed back her hair to get a better look at the cut on her forehead that the staff didn't even bother to dress. "Complete hackjob." He grumbled as he shook his head. "That's going to need some more work. We can take you to a better hospital when we get home."

"Please," she begged him, "no more hospitals. I just want to go home. Please, Uncle Peter. Could you just…maybe?" She had never asked Peter for his medical help, but he was the only one she trusted.

Peter looked to Gabriel. It was his call to make, but he had a feeling he could understand her distaste for medical centers. When Gabriel gave him a tight nod, he smiled at her. "Sure, I can fix it. But I'm going to go on ahead and get some supplies. I'll be waiting when you get home, ok?"

Jenna knew that Peter was like her father in that he too had a lot of abilities and she found herself wishing he took her with him. After her dad growled "Put on your seatbelt" through clenched teeth and screamed out of the parking lot toward the city, she began to feel as though he was angry at her. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and she was pushed into her seat with every rapid acceleration and thrown forward every time he had to break or swerve to cut in and out of traffic. The sun was just rising and peeking from between the skyscrapers as they crossed the river, but she got a feeling that's not why he was squinting. She tried to curl herself into a ball to get as far away from him as possible. She was sure he was going to yell at her for not calling him, or not using the mace he gave her, but she didn't remember much about what happened. She didn't even know where her purse was…she couldn't remember anything and it scared her. She almost yelped with fear when the car suddenly swerved and came to an abrupt stop on the shoulder of the road.

Gabriel noticed she was quietly crying again and he could tell by her body language that she thought she was in trouble. Ever since Peter told him what had potentially happened to her, he had been stewing in a cauldron of unadulterated, blind hatred and he hadn't been real good at hiding it. But amid his fury, he had forgotten that his daughter was suffering in a hell of her own and he swallowed his own thirst for blood to carefully reach out to her. "Baby," he called to her in a steady but sincere voice, "I'm sorry this happened to you. I am angry, but I'm angry at myself. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't follow my instincts and you were hurt. I'm so sorry I let this happen."

She let him wipe away her tears even though her bruises throbbed with pain The utter misery in his eyes only made her feel worse. He truly believed that he was to blame. "It wasn't your fault, Dad. It isn't anyone's."

He begged to differ. "Somebody did this, but I just want you to know that this wasn't in any way your fault and…" He didn't want to sound too sappy, but some things were not better left unsaid. "I love you very much."

She gave him a small smile because she knew it wasn't always easy for him to say such things even if he felt it. "I know."


	11. Play it Again

**A/N: Huzza and hello to lament4death!**

**Chapter 11- Play it Again**

_Age: 17.5_

Over the following months, Gabriel quietly bided his time. In his usual exceedingly patient manner he lie in wait, letting her attacker believe that he got away with his crime. In his experience, revenge was indeed a dish best served cold and he had all the time in the world. He might have hidden his seething anger for Jenna's sake, but he certainly never forgot.

Peter suggested that Jenna see a therapist to help her deal with what she'd experienced, and Gabriel fully supported her decision to take his advice. She ultimately seemed to benefit from it, feeling less guilty and angry for having been treated as she was. He was, of course, happy to see her go on with her life as best she could, but he couldn't adjust so easily. He was glad it worked for her, but he couldn't see himself laying on anyone's couch. He had his own brand of therapy and soon he would experience his own version of catharsis. He even had his own support group.

Peter was predictably middle of the road about the plan, but he agreed faster than Gabriel thought he would and with far less protest than he expected. He seemed just as upset about the whole affair if that were possible, almost as though he considered Jenna his own. She may as well have been for as much involvement as he had in her development, and to know that she had potentially been so violated had to make his blood boil. Peter hated seeing innocents harmed and perhaps that was why he signed on. Maybe he needed a chance to right a wrong in the world, to bring some sense of justice to an incomprehensible and vile act, but whatever his reason, Gabriel was inwardly moved by his commitment. Peter had previously proven that although he didn't always agree with him, he had been and always would have his back so long as he was trying to do the right thing. But as often happened, extenuating circumstances had a way of mucking up Gabriel's carefully laid plans and it forced him to get creative. Peter was supposed to help him with the reconnaissance phase of the plan, but as luck would have it, Emma came down with a nasty virus that pretty much required his constant hovering over her even when she insisted she wasn't dying.

Never one to jump to conclusions, Gabriel needed definitive proof that Mr. Jason Bently was indeed responsible for Jenna's terrible experience and for that, he was in desperate need of one Japanese time traveler. Now he fully understood how it was that Noah and Nathan had found it so easy to ask for his help no matter how unlikely they deemed their success. For his daughter, he would do anything and that frightened him more than just a little bit to ponder the exact lengths to which he would go should the need arise. One uncomfortable phone call seemed trivial, but once he found himself in a dark alley smashed into a relatively narrow doorway with the man who gave him his scar, he began to question his own rationality.

Getting there was the easy part. Gabriel obtained a copy of the police report that outlined the location and circumstances in which Jenna was found. It was gut wrenching to read not so much for what it did say as for what it didn't. No witnesses, no identification on the victim, and no response from her other than one single episode of incoherent babbling which the writer noted as "dada ga." He felt physically ill at the thought of her lying in some cold, dark alley all alone in a strange city, but actually being there made it worse because it only confirmed that his imagination was pretty much spot on.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hiro asked grimly. "If it were my daughter, I would just cut his head off and be done with it." He didn't carry around his katana anymore, but he would have been sure to bring it just for the occasion.

Gabriel had to glance at his partner just to be sure some stranger hadn't snuck up on him. Gone was the chipper, somewhat gratingly thick accent and those ridiculous glasses. Only a slight inflection belied the fact that he was not a native English speaker and at some point, he opted for contact lenses, a vast improvement. He also grew out his hair and had a nice soul patch going, all in all making him look a little more badass than he thought him capable. But more than his outward appearance, his very demeanor had changed. He wasn't the almost manically optimistic go getter he used to be, and Gabriel assumed that the war was responsible for that. He could see it even back then that Hiro's world view began to change and at the time he thought it was a reasonable adjustment, but it looked as though he weren't the only one who was still carrying around a head full of bad memories. With the more intense focus he seemed to have gained, Gabriel was thankful that Kirby Plaza happened well before because he might have found himself taking the little pain in the ass more seriously. "What if it were your son that did it?"

Hiro gave him a disgusted look. "Then he'd have something else removed. It would be a dishonor of the highest degree."

Gabriel smirked and resumed his watch toward the street. "It's too bad you didn't have such clarity when we first met. I think we might have got along a little better than we did."

"I don't regret trying to kill you so long ago because you deserved it." He informed him nonchalantly. "But I just wanted you to know that I didn't pull the trigger at your execution. You didn't deserve it then. Only the evil need be punished."

Gabriel gave him a tiny, relieved smile. "Remind me to stay on your good side then. Getting run through with a sword hurt like hell. You could have had the courtesy to sharpen it first. It was like being sawed in half with a rusty butter knife."

"If it hurt so bad, why didn't you die?" He asked blandly.

Gabriel shook his head and scoffed. "You just don't give up, do you?" He couldn't believe that after all that time, he was still doggedly seeking an explanation, but he simply didn't have one to give him other than the fact that someone drug his limp carcass through the sewers and paid for repeated rounds of surgery to stitch him back together.

Perhaps sensing that Gabriel was going to take his secret to grave, however long in the future that may lie, he took the opportunity to remind him of the mechanics of butterfly stomping. "You know that even if you see something terrible, you can't stop it. Some things are inevitable no matter how hard you try to change them."

He turned solemn and he swallowed irritably at the thought of having to stand by and watch someone hurt her, the futility of saving her making his heart pound with anxiety and dread. "What if I try?" He whispered hesitantly, his mind spinning with plans, "Maybe I can…"

"It's not how it works." He told him flatly. "Believe me, I've tried." Maybe it was a little pointed, but he didn't care. He had no reason to be afraid of Sylar, he could always vanish in a puff of smoke and leave him standing there all by himself if it came down to it. He never really got over Charlie's death and he never really stopped blaming Sylar for it. He might have changed, but it didn't change what he did.

Gabriel clenched his jaw. He hated having his past thrown into his face like that, but it seemed that more and more it was all catching up to him. Matt was right: karma was a bitch and it looked as if his payday were on the horizon. He understood Hiro's point of view, but he didn't apologize because even if he somehow forced out a mea culpa, he doubted it would mean anything to him. It certainly wouldn't bring back perhaps the only woman he ever loved- it all seemed so pointless. "Then why are you helping me?" He gritted through his teeth.

Hiro seemed unmoved. "Because I know how I would feel if it were my daughter. If I didn't help you bring this jackass to justice the right way, I know you would have done it your way. Sylar is dead and I want to make sure it stays that way. I'm getting to old to chase you around like I used to."

Gabriel never asked him if he had children, but there was something very fierce and familiar in his voice that gave him the impression that he did. No matter how Hiro may have changed, he imagined that he still managed to be a far better father than he turned out to be. And behind the cynicism was still the man driven by a sense of duty and honor, making Gabriel consider the fact that perhaps he hadn't really changed much at all. His attention was pulled away from his accomplice when the moment he had been waiting for arrived.

He and Hiro watched grimly as a white limousine pulled up at the end of the alley and the door swung open. Jason stumbled out, his tie hanging from his partially open shirt, and he looked around agitated. Finding the darkened and abandoned alley sufficient, he returned to the car and hauled an unconscious Jenna out by her arms, dragging her in the dirt and mud of the alley. "Come on, dumb bitch." He muttered as he struggled to get a grip on her, settling on grabbing a handful of her dress and ripping it in the process. In the dim light, Gabriel could see the fresh bruises already forming on her lovely face and it made him sick. Jason struggled as far as he had the energy and patience to before letting her drop into a puddle of dirty water. The coldness of the water was enough to partially bring her around and her eyes fluttered while she coughed weakly. Rather than being encouraged by her signs of life, Jason seemed angered by it. He didn't give a damn about her welfare and showed his distain by kicking a nearby glass bottle and growling, "Fuck you, bitch. After all I did you didn't have the sense to put out? Who does that?" Gabriel didn't know if it was intentional or not, but the bottle's trajectory ended at Jenna's forehead and it glanced off with a ringing thud, leaving a gash above her eye. It took every ounce of restraint that he could muster not to emerge from the darkness, hand raised to exact revenge right then and there, but Hiro kept him in check by keeping a firm grip on his shirt sleeve. She whimpered pitifully and fell back into unconsciousness while Jason stalked back to the car and ordered the driver to take off.

Gabriel went straight to his daughter in three long, fast strides and squatted beside her, softly stroking her wet hair. "It's ok, baby." He promised her, his voice threatening to break under the strain of the overwhelming sadness and anger he felt at watching his child suffer. "I'm going to fix this. He won't get away with it. I promise." Hiro watched solemnly as Gabriel gently held her hand while he called 911 so she wouldn't have to wait to be discovered. It wouldn't change the future, he reasoned, and it would at least in some small way make him feel better to think that he was doing something to help her if he couldn't change the fact that it happened in the first place. Gabriel stayed with her up until the moment the wail of the sirens echoed off the alley walls and the space was lit with flashing red and white lights. Only then, only when he was certain that his girl was safe, did he finally force himself to let go of her hand and allow Hiro to return them to the future before they were discovered lurking nearby.

Although Jenna was doing better, the experience was traumatic enough to reignite Gabriel's long buried nightmares of Level 5 and the war. The sense of helplessness and fear was fresh in his mind and he often woke with a start, his heart pounding and his body slicked with sweat, wondering if he screamed at all. He didn't want to wake her and he certainly didn't want her to know that he was anything other than completely stable, but he was worried that she might suspect something was wrong by the number of times she found him in the small hours of the morning working on watches or simply sitting on the couch exhausted with his head in his hands. But it was going to be ok, he told himself as he looked at his support group who met in his living room while Claire took Jenna out to a movie. Everything was going to be fine because he knew that each person was in 100% and they wouldn't fail him. He had gone through hell with them before and once more they rallied to their leader's call. Their very presence gave him a sense of calm certitude and Sylar smirked. His army awaited and in the blink of an eye they were on the battlefield.

He sat casually in a desk chair, feet kicked up on the computer desk, slowly flipping through the pages of the diary Jason kept under his bed. Finding it took only minutes because there was a short list of places it was likely to be. Finding the bottle of Rohypnol took longer, but time was on his side and he located it cleverly hidden in a hollowed out bookend. Great for fooling his unsuspecting parents, but a little too easy for Gabriel to find given his deductive logic and the fact that he stupidly wrote about it in his diary.

Jason stirred and blinked confused. He didn't remember leaving his desk light on when he went to bed, but it was on and it illuminated Jenna's brother of all people, quietly sitting and reading his journal as though he somehow belonged there. Jason glanced at the open window, but Gabriel didn't even look up and blandly said, "That's not how I got here if you were wondering."

"How the hell did you get in?" He asked, a little pissed that there was an intruder in his room.

"We'll get to that." Gabriel patiently answered, turning the page to keep reading. "But first we have some business to attend to. I believe we had an agreement and you failed to fulfill your obligation."

"Fuck you, man!" Jason laughed as he quickly reached under his bed to pull out a gun and point it at Gabriel's head. "I didn't agree to shit. Now get out before I blow your head off."

His dark eyes flicked to the gun and he gave his prey a small, twisted smirk. "You think I didn't know you had a gun stashed there? According to the entry on July 6th you found it in a storm drain, but the firing pin is damaged. It might not even work, however, if you're feeling particularly brave tonight, go ahead and pull the trigger." He calmly dared him. "It wouldn't be the first time I've been shot." He could see it in the kid's eyes and his trembling hand, he didn't have the guts. "Put it down," he scoffed condescendingly as he returned to his book, "you look ridiculous, especially since we both know it isn't loaded. You seem to be missing the clip if the gaping hole in the bottom of the grip is anything to go by."

"What do you want?" He asked a little apprehensively. "I didn't do anything to her, I swear."

The tingling in the back of his head felt more like being stabbed with an ice pick and it almost made him wince in pain. "Let's begin with June 12th, shall we?" He asked pleasantly. "Allison Gifford. A nice girl you met online. Never having actually had sex with anything more animate than a sock or vacuum cleaner, you decide to get some help in the form of rufies off a dealer on 52nd." He reached into his pocket and held up the bottle to give it a little shake. "Poor Allison never knew what hit her. Your first time is usually better when your partner is conscious and not approximating a warm corpse, but it's a little late for that now."

"They weren't dead." He sneered in disgust. He never considered what he did as anything close to being harmful. It was just a way to cut to the chase, avoiding all the talk and games and a way to ensure that there was a reward at the end of it all. They never remembered anything afterward, a neat little side effect that kept him from getting caught. No harm no foul.

"May as well have been." Gabriel shrugged. "August 24th, Shelly Myers almost was. The pretty little waitress at the local TGI Friday's almost overdosed because you didn't know that you should never mix a nervous system depressant with alcohol. Lucky for her she survived, but now she has a lifetime of dialysis to look forward to because her liver failed. A gift that just keeps on giving…"

"That was an accident." He defended, recalling the panic he felt to think she was dying as her eyes rolled into the back of head. "I didn't mean to…"

"But you did. September 9th -Tia Johnson, November 13th -Bethany Miller, New Year's Day-Kristen Bowen." He sighed, listing the dates of each assault he recorded. He actually knew Bethany Miller, she was one of Jenna's former teammates. "But my favorite was Lilly Torres, February 14. How romantic." His voice was all but dripping with sarcasm as he glared at the man that so disgusted him. "Fast forward to April 20th, Jenna Carter."

Jason went pale when he realized that his own hand doomed him. He could deny it all he wanted, but her brother held the entire account in his lap. "Look man, it wasn't what you think." He weakly protested. All he could do now was try to judge how badly he was going get his ass kicked by the taller man. He seemed a little shady and his warning of retribution rang in his head. _'And before you think that this is just like every other threat you've heard before, know that I can and will follow through…'_ There was a certain stillness, an air of absolute invincibility that made him wonder if Jenna's brother was part of the mob or something. He was good at giving the distinct impression that he had done similar things before and got away with it.

"Then let's suspend my opinion and go straight to the facts." He retorted, flipping the pages to read directly from the grim tale. "Finally," he announced in his best reading voice, "bagged Jenna Carter's sweet ass. Can't believe she's letting me take her to prom. How fucking desperate must she be? I've been wanting to get all up in her forever!" He lowered the book with a distasteful expression. "So eloquent."

"Come on, dude. You have a dick! Tell me you wouldn't think she was hot if she wasn't your sister." He pleaded.

"Completely irrelevant." He dismissed, pointedly turning to the next page to continue the story. "May 5th. Tonight's the big night. Putting on my tux and filling the pockets with little doses of love for my date. Can't wait to see those pretty brown eyes drift shut so I can get my groove on. Just have to get through this stupid dance to get to the real party. May 6th. Last night sucked. Seriously- total fucking letdown. Got served by her dickhead brother, whatever." Gabriel glanced up to glare at him stonily until he squirmed before resuming. "But couldn't fucking score because she wouldn't drink anything. Finally got her to sip a little beer, but it was only enough to make her groggy. Had to knock her bitch ass out and force one down her throat. It was getting late and I had to get the limo back, so I dropped her off in Newark, hoping some homeless dude would get blamed for it. Hopefully she won't remember anything. Not going down for that fucking ho."

"So what." Jason shrugged, knowing that there really was no recourse for him. "I didn't fuck her. Get over it."

"While it does give me some measure of relief, it's entirely beside the point." Gabriel dryly informed him, tossing the book on the desk. "Because all that was lacking was opportunity, and the half dozen or so other girls you attacked were not so lucky. Perhaps your next victim may not be either, but there won't be another victim. Not one more young woman will have to stumble home in a fog, wondering what the hell happened to her, afraid and ashamed because you don't have the courage to be a man and take rejection."

"Fuck you. What are you going to do about it? All I have to do is scream loud enough to wake up my parents." He sneered defiantly.

Gabriel tilted his head slightly and smirked at the boy's bravado. Although he was scared to death, he was pretending to be confident. "You could try," he invited menacingly, "but no one will hear you scream except me and my imaginary friends."

Jason looked to him confused. "You are fucking crazy. Imaginary friends? Seriously?"

Gabriel raised one of his eyebrows with a sly smile. "Officer Parkman," He called in a bored tone as he tilted back in his chair, "arrest this man. He pointed a gun at me and I was afraid for my life and…so forth." He lazily waved. The look on the little twerp's face was priceless when Peter released his cloaking ability to reveal he, Hiro, and Matt- in his agent uniform with gun drawn and pointed straight at his head.

"Holy shit!" Jason jumped. "What the hell? I didn't know you were a goddamn freak. Fucking specials."

"There's a lot you don't know, apparently." Hiro frowned. How someone could be so stupid was beyond him. "You didn't even notice that your cat has been standing in the same position the entire time." He gestured to the frozen feline by Gabriel's chair, stopped in mid stride by time.

Gabriel reached down to scratch the immobile animal behind the ears. "And that's why no one will hear you scream." He summed. "Your entire world has stopped except for this room."

In a last act of desperation, Jason reached for his gun but Matt took a step forward and retrained his sights on him. "Don't do it," he warned in a stern voice, "on the floor. _Now_." He too noticed the missing clip, but it didn't mean there wasn't one bullet in the chamber. Just as an added measure of precaution, Peter flicked it across the room well out of his reach with his telekinesis. If he or Gabriel were accidently shot it would be merely inconvenient, he couldn't say the same for Matt or Hiro. He wanted to avoid medical catastrophe if at all possible.

While Gabriel watched Matt handcuff the perp with mild interest he casually picked up the journal and asked, "Do you think the boys at the local precinct will be interested in this?"

Matt hauled Jason up painfully by the arm and smiled. "Oh yeah. The gun too. I'll bet there's a murder out there that can be tied to that gun. People don't toss things like that into a sewer unless they're trying to get rid of it."

Jason looked over his shoulder spitefully and noted Matt's uniform. "You aren't a real fucking cop. You work for the government."

Matt pulled off a velcro patch on his vest that concealed a compartment containing his badge. "I have the same power to make arrests as any beat cop, pervert. Which reminds me, you're under arrest for rape, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder. It's up to the DA how many counts you'll be charged with, but I think it's safe to say you're looking at a very long stretch." He gave him a shove toward the door to walk him to the van that awaited on a side street.

West shook his head in disgust when he saw the group approach with the target. Matt asked him to come along on the midnight raid as a favor, but in reality, he wanted to. Although he and Claire sort of went separate ways, he still kept in touch with her through their job. He had a wife and daughter of his own and as a father, it terrified him that she would ever experience something like that. His own motivations aside, he did it as a favor to Gabriel. After what he did for them all, his getting dressed in his uniform and taking a bad guy off the street seemed trivial. He couldn't believe he ever thought that he and Claire had something going, but it seemed almost funny to him now. It was hard to believe that he was in his early 30's, roughly the same age Sylar was when he began his reign of terror. What was even harder to believe was that he didn't snap and just kill the kid. "I would have just cut his head off." He commented.

"That's what I said." Hiro shrugged.

Luke opened the back door of the van and smiled deviously at Jason. He came for similar reasons as West, but no matter who the favor was for, it was exactly his cup of tea anyway. Luke hadn't settled down with anyone yet, but it didn't matter- he didn't like the idea of the punk giving all men a bad name. After he secured Jason to the floor with a nice, shiny set of chains he banged on the divider between the driver and the cargo area to let West know he was ready. "I'm glad you're into rape." He chuckled as they took off into the darkness. "I'll bet there's some very lonely guy out at Riker's Island saving a spot on his bunk bed just for you."


	12. Flying the Coop

**A/N: Bienvenido billandsookie!**

**Chapter 12- Flying the Coop**

_Age: 18_

Just as one upheaval was resolved with a little help from his friends, another, more cataclysmic shift rocked Gabriel's world and all the pithy condolences people could throw his way only served to irritate him. He had never felt so conflicted in his life. On the one hand, he knew that this was but one more step in her ultimate development and another mile marker on her journey to becoming her own woman, but at least a part of him dreaded the consequences. He was happy that she was graduating from the elite private school Nathan got her into which nearly bankrupted him. And he was happy that she was accepted into college despite her period of lagging grades, perhaps not an Ivy League institution but a decent public university nonetheless. But it only meant that soon she would go on to an exciting new phase of her life, leaving him all alone in the apartment he had shared with her almost since her beginning. He looked balefully around her empty room, most of her worldly possessions packed into boxes and neatly labeled for eventual removal, and his heart may as well have been in one of them. He carefully picked up one of her sweaters and absentmindedly fiddled with it, the soft cashmere fabric silky in his hands. He smiled bittersweet at the thought that at the start of it all, he had no room for her in his life, but now the space seemed unbearably vacuous without her.

He put down her sweater and sat on the edge of her bed, weighed down with melancholy that made his dark eyes stormy as he glanced at the dresser mirror where her graduation cap was hung precariously, the tassel adding a splash of color to the morbidly black square. He was at her high school graduation, but he was forced to observe from the shadows so as not to arouse suspicion while the other parents, years older than he remembered them, openly cried, hugged, and kissed their children. Jenna bravely walked across the stage, Peter, Claire, and Emma her only obvious supporters, to collect the evidence of her achievement. She bravely smiled as she told him she understood that he couldn't be in the stands with everyone else and she swore that it didn't bother her, but his head tingled lightly, only adding to his misery he felt at letting her down.

She wanted him to be there because through it all he supported her and stood over her to make sure she did her homework even when she didn't want to, patiently explaining the mechanics of mathematics or the importance of economic trade to the country's development during British rule sometimes better than her formally educated teachers had. It was one of the most important moments of her life and he wanted to be there front and center, to stand and cheer, to make ridiculous attempts at whistling loudly, to smile at her and let her know how proud he was. But as it stood, he only managed to sneak a glance at her in her moment of glory from under the edge of the bleachers before someone spotted him.

"Hey," Brianna's dad smiled, his face showing the beginnings of wrinkles and his temples turning silver, "you look familiar. Don't I know you?"

"No." Gabriel quickly muttered before making a hasty exit through the nearby gymnasium doors. He made the rest of the journey home in a cloud of stomach twisting guilt, but he vowed to never miss another moment in her life, even if it meant distancing himself from her to do so. From then on he wasn't her father, her brother, or even a close relative. He was a friend of the family that others wouldn't often see. Someone who could pop in and out of her life with little explanation or consequence, someone who could watch from afar as she started her own life, perhaps had her own family, and grew old. It broke his heart to disavow himself, but it was what was best for her and that was of the ultimate importance to him.

He rubbed his face in an attempt to shake himself from his self-pity, but moments such as that were rare and he allowed himself to grieve the loss of his little girl so long as she wasn't around to see it. She was now officially an adult, leaving the nest, and leaving him behind. It was the natural order of things, and as disturbing as it was, he began to understand his adoptive mother's reticence to let go a little better. Virginia held him tightly by invisible reigns, always wanting the very best for him, but afraid to let him go out into the world to even try to achieve any of the grand schemes she had for him. Admittedly, he did play along a little bit by placating her because he could see how sad and empty her life was otherwise. He was her only source of joy outside of her globes and figurines, and she couldn't let her tiny glimmer of light walk out her door to be swept away by the shifting winds of fortune.

His eyes widened when the thought crossed his mind that the same could be true of Jenna. Did she see him as a sad man, huddled over his broken watches and buried in stacks of books while life went on all around him? She had been his entire life for almost two decades, his impetus for change, and both his greatest entertainment and deepest heart break. He simply didn't know how to go on without lunches to pack, mountains of clothes to wash, and whipping up dinners for two. Finally alone, a familiar beast began to stir deep within him, to awaken and gnaw at him with a demanding insistence. His only reason for keeping his hunger under control, the only thing that eased the pain and made the suffering bearable, was walking out his door effective that afternoon and he dreaded it.

"Hey, Dad!" Jenna called as she struggled through the front door weighed down with shopping bags. She kicked the door shut and dropped her load with an exhausted sigh. "Dad?"

Gabriel rounded the corner from her bedroom to the living area, trying to put on his best game face so she would see anything but a man who was dying a slow and painful internal death. He forced himself to smile as he took in the impressive pile of supplies his credit card had no doubt been nearly been melted for. Nathan couldn't have been more prophetic with his warning and he wondered how other men of less means dealt with each almost obligatory retail crisis. "Is all that going to fit in your dorm room?" He asked skeptically. "You know, they really aren't that big." His cell on Level 5 was more spacious and clean than the aged hellhole they toured on the campus visit. The fact that they forced two people to live in such a confined space seemed against all logic or compassion.

Jenna blushed a little as she sheepishly admitted, "Peter and Claire are bringing up a few more things."

Almost as soon as she said it, Peter and Claire appeared in the living room, at least doubling the total haul between them. He caught the look in Gabriel's stunned eyes and he shook his head in exhaustion. "I wasn't about to carry that 6 blocks. I don't care who saw us." Of course the world knew that specials existed, but they were still a little leery of using abilities quite so openly. The peace they had achieved was tenuous at best. Even though they had miles of receipts for the purchases, inevitably someone would wonder if they were stealing them and making a quick getaway.

"Ok," Gabriel scoffed with something more like a genuine smirk, "Jenna, not all this will fit." He didn't measure the dimensions of the cramped little dorm room, but his ability to accurately guestimate spatial relationships was fairly keen and there was no way she was going to get all the fuzzy pillows, desk supplies, clothing, and bath towels she had into it without looking like a high end hoarder.

"I know, but I thought maybe I could keep some of it here." She floated the idea of turning a room of his house into a storage area as sweetly as she could. She knew how he detested clutter at an almost visceral level. She didn't even know what a dust bunny was until she heard a friend mention it recently, but it was worth a shot.

"Or you could just stay here." He countered. "I don't know why you want to live on campus when you could keep your room. Privacy, reliable hot water, better food than a cafeteria could ever hope to dole out." He listed. "Free laundry, housekeeping services…"

"Dad, we discussed this." She patiently reminded him. "I'm just across the borough, it's not like I'm moving to California. If I'm going to go to college, I want to experience the whole thing."

"Beer pong, strip poker, sleeping in late and missing exams," he sighed, placing his hands on his hips while he frowned, "sex with random people, running through the quad naked because you lost a bet. I didn't go to college, but I know people who did."

"Don't look at me." Peter defended. "I didn't want my family's money to go to nursing school, but I had the sense to stay home while I did it. There's no way I was staying in a dorm. It's barbaric at best."

Claire bit her lip as all eyes fell on her. "I…" she stammered, feeling her cheeks flush slightly, "I mean, I did live on campus, but…" Her voice fell almost to a whisper as she bent to pick up some of the bags. "I'll just take these into the other room until the topic changes."

"Dad, you said you would pay my tuition if I brought my grades up and got accepted, and I did." It took a lot of hard work and finally allowing him to help her with her studies, but she did it. Like all kids, she doubted her father's true intelligence, but it seemed she could blindside him with any random topic and he was able to calmly shoot back facts about it. Did she know that the sport of soccer was invented by the English who kicked around the severed heads of Danish invaders? That during the civil war, enlistees were required to have at least 2 opposing front teeth to open gun powder charges and some purposely pulled out their teeth to avoid service? That the children's nursery rhyme 'Jack and Jill' was actually about the beheading of King Louis IV and Marie Antoinette during the French Revolution? Even though his library was stuffed to the rafters with books, it was clear it was for more than just show. He always seemed to be reading and his intellectual prowess was actually a little intimidating.

"Tuition, not debauchery." He steadfastly disagreed. "You are there to get an education- of the _academic_ kind."

"So," Peter interjected, sensing that things were getting a bit tense, "have you decided what you'll study?"

"I'm just taking general classes my first year, but I was thinking of theatre." She responded, adding a little flair to imitate the drama she was thinking of.

It was drama, alright, and apparently the first time Gabriel had heard of her aspirations by the tightly controlled grimace on his face. He thought it just about as useful as a one legged cat trying to cover a turd on a frozen lake, but he was trying his best not to let his disappointment show. It looked as though his dreams of her becoming an astrophysicist or neurosurgeon were dashed, but he always hoped for something, _anything_, that was at least somewhat respectable. There was no doubt that her interest came from her mother rather than his own preference for logic and laws. She was quite the actress in her own right to trap him- twice.

"Oh," Peter squinted, trying to think of a way to sound supportive in the face of Gabriel's obvious displeasure, "that sounds…" he cleared his throat and picked up more of the bags, "I'll just help Claire."

"Well, it looks as though your stash is making its way into your room." He sighed, defeated and demoralized on so many levels. "I suppose you can keep some of your things here." Of course the items would need to be neatly stacked and organized, but it would give him something to do and occupy his time for at least a little while.

Jenna smiled as she stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. She was taller than the average woman, but her father still towered over her. She pulled him down slightly so she could give him an appreciative peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Dad, but we both know that you were going to leave my room as it is. Just in case I want to come over for a late dinner." She giggled.

"You seem confident about that." He observed, although she nailed it perfectly. If she didn't want to take a cab home, he certainly wasn't going to let her take public transportation. She may as well have been 12 years old in her school uniform again, he felt the same about her safety.

"And you didn't deny it." She retorted, handing him back his credit card. For all her time with him she began to realize that sometimes what he didn't say was just as telling as what he did. "The movers will be here in about an hour to get my stuff. I'm going to head over to the new place to get ready for them."

"Ok," he hung his head slightly, the finality of the moment sinking in, "before you go, Jenna, I wanted to give you a few things." He left her with an intrigued look on her face while he dug through the top drawer of his dresser. When he returned, he briefly smiled as he handed her a worn, yellowed envelope. "This is your birth certificate- your original one."

Jenna smiled quizzically as she unfolded the bit of paper that contained her mother's information. "Gabrielle?" She asked a little surprised. "My name used to be Gabrielle? It's a nice name like yours, why did you change it?"

"It isn't that nice, believe me." He rolled his eyes in disgust. "I wanted you to have your own identity, separate from mine because…well…" he trailed off, feeling she got the implication. _My identity is a little tainted and not worth anyone having to carry._ "Anyway, I also wanted to give you a little going away gift."

She took the small velvet box from his hand, her eyes lighting up as soon as she opened it. Resting inside was a delicate silver chain with a small, princess cut diamond pendant. "Wow, Dad, it's nice." She beamed excitedly. "How did you know?"

He chuckled to himself as he took the chain from the box and stood behind her to fasten the clasp. "You can never go wrong if you give a girl diamonds." He turned her around to look down at her lovingly. "And," he reached into his pocket for the coup de gras, a credit card with her name on it, "for your _responsible_ use. You may want to live an authentic college life, but I can't let near starvation be a part of that."

She nearly leaped into his arms with joy. "Thanks, Dad! Now I don't have to worry about eating nasty cafeteria food."

"If you don't want to come home for some of my home cooked slop, yes." He smiled. "But try to limit the amount of pizza and burgers you eat. Freshman 15 can easily turn into 25. And just so you understand, this is an extension of my account. No late night beer runs or last minute trips to Cancun for spring break will go unnoticed. Books, supplies, food. That's it. Any other extracurricular expenses will have to be paid for through a job on campus as a TA or working in the library."

Peter and Claire watched from her bedroom door, smiling at one another over being able to witness such a moment between an unlikely father and his child. Claire leaned in close to whisper, "Why couldn't he be like that when we knew him?"

"He might have if Ma and the others didn't screw with him." He noted distastefully. "I heard he was actually pretty docile before that, but go through what he did and tell me you'd still be Mr. Nice Guy. Anyway, I'm just thankful he's not that person anymore. Sylar would never let us watch him being vulnerable like this."

"I always thought Sylar was the kind to eat his own babies." Claire's expression clouded over with worry and doubt. "Do you really think he's changed? I mean for good? I know he's different now, but I just can't believe that he can keep holding out forever, you know? What if he's already killed someone that we just don't know about?"

No matter how much he wanted to believe in Gabriel, he shared her concerns. The pervasive darkness that still reared its ugly head in the brief flicker of his eyes told him that Sylar was still very much a part of who he was. "I don't know," he admitted, "but we have to help him try. We're going to be all he has after she's gone."

Claire watched as Gabriel held Jenna in a friendly embrace and she wanted the moment to last forever for him, but she knew it wouldn't. If all went well, he would have at least 60 more years to enjoy her company, but one day she would be gone. She just hoped that all those years of practice in caring for another would help temper the selfishness and isolation that was characteristic of Sylar. "So what about now?" She asked, looking back into Jenna's soon to be abandoned room. "How do you think he's going to handle the empty nest syndrome?"

Peter half smiled as his eyes lit up. "Knowing him, he'll stay up late scrubbing the entire place down."

Claire shook her head in confusion. "Why do you say that?" It seemed like an odd thing to do as his house always looked as though it were ready for a photo shoot for Better Homes and Gardens as it was. Nothing was ever out of place to the point it barely looked lived in.

"Why do you think I put him on the cleaning crew when he was at Maria's?" He asked knowingly. "It's almost therapeutic for him. It gives him a sense of control and purpose. Some people drink, others make lists, he cleans. I don't know where he picked it up, but I can tell you it's in his nature to be a little obsessive."

"Obviously." She agreed, thinking back to all the things that made him who he was. From his appearance to his house to the way he planned government takedowns, the only word that came to mind for him was meticulous.

"But I'm not going to leave him here all by himself to stew." He assured her. "He doesn't know it, but he's going out to dinner with someone."

Claire struggled to hold back a shocked giggle. "You set him up on a blind date?" She gasped wide eyed. "Changed or not, I don't see him going for it."

"It's not a date." He clarified. He knew Gabriel would never go on a date, but he took the liberty of setting up more of a commiserative experience. "It's your dad."

Claire was skeptical, but she tried to remain at least a little positive. "I don't see him going for that either." In fact, a random romantic stranger may have been easier for him after all. "I mean, I'm not sure, but I don't think they have talked to each other in almost 20 years."

"Noah's getting older and all that happened between them was a long time ago. I just thought maybe Gabriel could benefit from his insight." Seeing the clear disbelief in her eyes, he smiled gently. "C'mon, it's not like they're going to kill each other."

Gabriel sat across from his dinner guest, wanting to kill Peter for tricking him as he did. For all the last minute rush to get dressed and arrive on time, he was at least expecting a woman. "So." He coolly said, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. There was no need to be proper in a chivalrous context and he needed to feel as relaxed as possible given the company. "We can thank Peter for this arrangement."

Noah's hair had gone almost white with age, but it made his sharp blue eyes all that more intense, the corners of them wrinkling into crow's feet behind the same horned rimmed glasses he always wore as he smiled. "He didn't tell you, I take it."

"No, he neglected to inform me you would be my date." He looked around the posh restaurant nervously, hoping none of the surrounding tables heard him. He just wasn't into much older men- especially ones who had tried to kill him so many times.

"Well, the dating scene is tough out there, particularly for the geriatric set, but that's not why I came." He chuckled softly as he looked over the menu. "And it's not like I'd have a chance at bagging a specimen like you anyway."

Gabriel looked up at him sharply, trying to discern exactly what he meant by that. Did HRG suddenly decide to bat for the other team in his later years or did he mean 'bag' in the 'bag and tag' sense of the word? The longer he sat there, the more he wished he had Peter's ability to read minds while at the same time hating him for putting him in the situation without warning. "So why did you come?" He ventured cautiously, always on the lookout for any clue that some secret agenda was on the horizon. Noah may have looked like a harmless old man, but it didn't fool him for a minute. Gabriel knew that once in the game there was no getting out and HRG was the best that ever played.

"Because I heard you had a daughter that just went off to college." His tone dropped all hints of sarcasm and his mood seemed to shift ever so subtly. "And I thought that maybe I could help you avoid the same mistakes I made."

He stared down at his shiny silverware wrapped neatly in the cream colored napkin in shock. There was something so utterly human that he'd never before witnessed in his demeanor. In every other encounter he had with the company man, he was all business in one way or another, but he simply never imagined him on a more personal level. Noah had always been someone to evade, to outsmart, to get back at, but never a source of wisdom for life's challenges. "She left this afternoon." He quietly stated.

"And you're feeling pretty lonely. It's like you're the last person on the earth knowing that she doesn't need you anymore." He smiled gently when he saw the pure recognition of the feeling in Gabriel's warm eyes. "But she will. That's the thing. You might not be changing diapers or fixing broken toys anymore, but it doesn't stop just because she's a legal adult now. I always wanted to protect Claire, but I never found that sweet spot between being there for her and letting go entirely and I regret that. Don't make the same mistake with your daughter. Give her the courage to explore the world on her own, but always be waiting with your arms open when it gets too tough for her. Don't try to save her from every mistake, but let her know that you will be there when she needs you. Becoming an adult is just like learning to ride a bike as a kid. It takes a few rounds of falling and scraping a knee or bumping your head before you master it, but always be there waving at her when she looks back."

Gabriel sighed in relief that the encounter wasn't going to be as rife with stress as he thought it would be. "I can't believe that she's on her own now. There's so much out there that she just doesn't know about. Things I'm not sure I want her to know about."

"Like how she came to be?" He inquired pleasantly. "It was mostly her idea, you know."

"What are you talking about?" He asked suspiciously. Secretly he'd always known that something about the situation wasn't right.

"Come on now. A pretty girl just shows up out of nowhere to offer you a job? Did you really think it was coincidence?" He gently chided. "We needed you to work for us and she assured me she could bring you in."

His eyes narrowed at the thought of being played yet again. "You sent her?" He hissed. "Why didn't you just come yourself?"

"Because she had certain…assets…I didn't." He nonchalantly replied. It was just a fact to him. "I could only guess that my showing up and coming on to you wouldn't have had the same effect."

"I'd say." Gabriel sneered at the mental image. "I wouldn't have had a baby out of it. I suppose next you're going to tell me that she's not really dead and this was all some sick experiment."

"Unfortunately, that's not the case. Stephanie knew she was dying when she went to see you." Gabriel's eyes drifted as he remembered the way she seemed just a little unsteady on her feet and why such little wine affected her as it did. She probably was taking some kind of medication for her cancer. "But when she found out she was pregnant, she stopped her treatments so as not to harm the baby. She died 4 months before we placed your daughter on your doorstep. It wasn't meant to be an experiment, it was to give you the honest to god chance to raise your own child. It was what she wanted."

"What if I couldn't?" He asked sadly. "Why didn't you give her to someone better able to take care of her? I wasn't the best option for her."

Noah saw a reflection of himself in Gabriel's doubt. "It's scary as hell, isn't it?" He laughed good naturedly. "Having a baby dropped into your life, a little person you are totally responsible for. But you do it despite your own fears, needs, and desires, and that's all that matters. My experience with Claire was similar. But imagine my quandary knowing you were out there after her. I hope for your sake there isn't someone similar waiting for your daughter. That is a terror thankfully unknown to most people."

"That's where you and I differ." He replied in a low tone, his eyes growing dark with determination. "There will be no bag and tag for me. No offer or mercy or a company behind me pulling the strings. Just me, them, and whatever ability I chose to dispatch them with."

"Can't say I blame you." He shrugged. "I would have outright killed you too if I had your powers." There was a marked certitude in his voice that told Gabriel he had pondered it many times.

Gabriel's mood lightened a little for the solidarity vote. "You did a fair job of coming close several times without them."

"You know what they say: close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and some marriages. If only I knew where your kill spot was, I would have had it made." He responded playfully, taking a sip of his water.

Of everyone he knew, only HRG would have had the skill to pull off the one in a million shot that would have ended him. He arched his eyebrow in contemplation as an old memory played in his mind. "Was it you?" He asked curiously. "Did you purposely paralyze me at my execution?" He always thought it was an accident, but he never considered the fact that one of his shooters was none other than the man in front of him.

Noah seemed a little uncomfortable with having his charity exposed and just gave him a coy, nonspecific smile. "When you get old like me, you tend to forget little details." He was careful not to directly answer the question, mindful that such deception would set off his dinner partner's lie detector. That was one detail he didn't forget.

Gabriel wasn't fooled for a second. He may have been older, but Noah's mind was as sharp as ever and he was still very much in the game. He gave him a small nod for the good deed he may or may not have recalled doing and ordered a bottle of wine for the long night ahead.


	13. Close Encounters

**Chapter 13- Close Encounters**

_Age: 22_

Gabriel busied himself slicing and dicing the vegetables he was going to use for his dinner with an almost reckless speed, not because he was pressed for time, but he was in a hurry to erase the events he witnessed only a few hours before from his almost regrettably photographic memory. Such things happen, but he wished it didn't happen to him. Concentrating on the speed and positioning of his incredibly sharp knife so he didn't lop off a finger temporarily eased the nausea he felt.

For obvious reasons he never visited Jenna at school, but it was a special day. It was not only her birthday, but the term had just ended and for the first time she managed to make the Dean's list. Quite an achievement after a rough start in which adjusting to the first year of college life led to missed assignments, failed exams, and repeated classes along with a ridiculous attempt to justify a $3,000 credit card bill as necessities. As a result, she was on the extended degree plan for 5 years rather than 4, but she did improve her time management skills and after a period of having to call and ask her father for money every time she needed it, learned to better budget her money as well. All the while, Gabriel kept repeating Noah's advice of letting her fall down a few times to himself and graciously made dinner for her a few nights a week because she was low on money and was perhaps too proud to ask him for more.

It was a beautifully sunny day and Gabriel was out and about running errands. He had already made plans to make Jenna dinner for her birthday, and his quest for the perfect ingredients just happened to take him by Battery Park, near her campus. It was very unusual for him, but he was in a rare mood, and he spotted a nice bunch of flowers with small purple buds at a florist stand. Thinking it would make a nice birthday surprise, he bought them and took them to her dorm just to pop in and confirm their plans. The hallways of the ancient building were crowded and noisy, people drifted from one room to another aimlessly and he swore her could smell marijuana. More than one young co-ed gave him friendly smiles, but he had another young lady in mind. He approached the door with matching glittery stars containing Jenna and her roomate's name and quietly knocked. He opened the door when he heard Jenna's voice, but realized that it wasn't the invitation he thought it was, only it wasn't soon enough. He only caught a flash, but he instantly knew what it was and he covered his eyes as he stumbled backward in shock and mumbling incoherently.

Jenna had never seen her father go pale or his eyes go quite so wide as when he unexpectedly walked in while she and her newest interest were having some hot and heavy sex. "Dad!" She screamed before she could catch herself. Unable to breathe and feeling flushed, he tossed the flowers into a nearby chair and hastily slammed the door. All the way home, his eyes almost hurt and he massaged his temples as though he had a migraine. What he thought was 'come in' was more likely 'I'm cumming' but he didn't want to put any more effort into figuring out the origin of the blunder than he had to. Some guy was waist deep in his daughter and he had to see it. He felt dirty, sick, and tainted.

Be that as it may, he had a dinner to make even if it was going to be far more awkward than he wanted it to be and the more he thought about it, the less he felt like eating and the more he wanted to scour the kitchen with bleach. He carefully constructed the vegetable lasagna into neat and even layers before putting it into the oven to bake to perfection. He almost burned himself when Jenna came early and hesitantly called his name. "Hey." He nervously smiled when she timidly poked her head around the corner. "I didn't think you'd be here for another hour."

She looked to the floor miserably. "I didn't think you would want me to be here."

He sighed deeply and hugged her. "Of course I would want you to be here. It's your birthday and I promised to make your favorite dish."

"I know," she mumbled into his chest, "but…"

Unpleasant as it was, he had to face down the elephant in the room with as much grace and tact as he could muster. "I'm sorry I walked in on you today." _Sorry in so many ways…_ "It was my fault, I should have called you first."

"You aren't mad?" She asked tentatively.

He pulled out one of the kitchen stools at the bar for her to sit and he stood opposite her to open a bottle of wine. He couldn't get drunk, but maybe it would make her feel a bit more relaxed if she had a glass before dinner. "Jenna, I'm not naive. Quite frankly, you are an adult and what you choose to do and who you do it with are none of my business. You are responsible enough to make your own decisions."

"What if it was a girl?" She inquired, taking a sip of her wine. "Would you be mad then?"

Sensing that she was feeling him out, he patiently smiled. "No. Again, it's none of my business. The only thing I care about is that you are happy and safe." He let his eyebrow linger on the upper edge of his forehead as an indication that it really was a question.

Jenna busted out laughing at his not-so-subtle query. "Yes."

"Alright then." He raised his glass to make a toast to her. "To my birthday girl. Too bad the surprise was on me, but the night is young."

"Here, here." She giggled, gently clinking her glass against his. "Why do you drink wine so much?" She questioned as she pondered her glass. "Because of your regeneration, you can't get drunk can you?"

"Unfortunately not, but I do enjoy the taste." He answered, setting the timer to remind him of when his masterpiece would be done. He could reliably keep track in his head, but it just wouldn't do to get distracted and burn it.

She sat her glass down with a mistrustful look. "That means you can't overdose either." He slyly smiled as he leaned against the counter, busted but unapologetic. "I can't believe you played me like that. _And_ Peter and Emma? You weren't sick at all were you?"

"Only worried sick." He shrugged. "But not in the way you thought, no."

"Do you ever get sick? At all? Have you ever been hurt?" She asked, almost mesmerized by her superhuman father.

"I haven't always had the ability to regenerate." He carefully replied, hoping she wouldn't push him for examples. He didn't want to tell her about Level 5, or being run through with Hiro's sword, the Shanti virus, being burned to a crisp, or what Jessup did to him…

"So how old are you, _really_?" There was an almost breathless quality to her voice that made him smile. "I mean, are you like 100 or something?"

He couldn't help but smile and laugh at her estimation. "I know you might think of me as ancient, but I wasn't around when the Magna Carta was signed."

"So how old are you then?" She persisted.

"After a certain point, birthdays aren't important anymore, but let's see…" he trailed off and glanced to the ceiling as he crunched the numbers in his head, "I guess I would be 61." He felt a little jolt of disconnection at the realization that he was approaching retirement age, yet he looked and felt so young. Almost an entire lifetime had gone by and it made him sad to think that for most everyone else it was such a short span when he felt that time had more or less stood still for him.

"Whoa." Jenna breathed, wide eyed. The man before her should have had grey hair and been physically slowing down, but he appeared to be about the same age as some of her professors. But really, all she had to do was look no further than Peter and Emma to gauge the rate of aging that should have been taking place. Emma was still a beautiful woman, but there was no denying that Peter looked more like her son than her lover, and that made her gently ask, "So, Dad, why in all the time I lived with you, you never dated anyone after my mom died? Did you really love her that much?"

Gabriel bit his lip and his eyes grew dark. "You are asking a question that you might not want the answers to." He warned her. The day's previous event was proof that she was old enough to understand that not all encounters were of the Disney fairytale type, but it didn't mean that she would want to hear that Stephanie was only an opportunity in his eyes. It was still her mother and it would only be natural to feel defensive in the face of such callousness no matter how honest it was. But from what Noah told him, the feeling was pretty much mutual.

Jenna noticed how he seemed to be upset by her question, but he was at least still willing to answer it unlike times previous when he was evasive or flat out refused to continue the conversation. "I want to know," she assured him, "no matter what it is."

He sighed deeply and folded his arms across his chest, trying to think of the best way to phrase it so as not to sound too much like a careless philanderer. "Your mother and I had a…difficult history. Remember when I told you that someone in New Orleans turned me into the authorities?"

"For the money you would bring as a slave, yeah." She eagerly nodded. It sounded horrible to sell another human into slavery, but she could understand how it would seem a good deal if the person was desperate enough.

"That was your mother." He scoffed. "That was the first time I met her and I didn't see her again until after she was sold and the war started. Remember I also told you about Maria?"

"The woman who owned you and the patent to the drug that suppresses abilities." She keenly followed.

"And the reason you have your middle name." He smiled lightly. "I didn't see your mother again until she appeared one day at Maria's to arrest her. She worked for the government by that time and Maria was the key to unraveling the entire revolution, but she never told her where I was or about any of our plans." His eyes drifted to the floor as he recollected the tension of the moment. "I don't know that we would have won if she did." He launched himself away from the counter to check the progress of his creation. "Anyway, we had a few more runs ins when she was trying to capture me, but all in all I pretty much forgot about her until she just showed up one day a few years after the war had ended. She wanted me to come work for the government, but I only found that out recently. As part of her…sales pitch shall we say…things kind of happened. I didn't take the job, she went back to Washington and that was it."

"That's it?" She asked mystified. "My mom sold you into slavery, killed your owner, tried to kill you, then just dropped by for some friendly nookie?"

"That's it." He knew the story wouldn't be too appealing, but he did give her fair warning. "But it was a complicated time for everyone. We all had to do things that we wouldn't normally do and your mother was no exception."

"You're pretty sanguine about her trying to kill you. I'm not sure I would be so charitable." She candidly admitted. "What kind of a person was she, anyway?"

"A conflicted one." He replied gently. "We all were, and it isn't like she was the first person I'd ever met who tried to kill me. I was pretty used to it by then."

"Ok, so you never really had a thing for my mother, but every time you talk about Maria your eyes light up. Is there something behind that story?" She playfully asked. She enjoyed teasing him about such things because she knew it was rare that he was so readable.

He gave her a gentle mock scowl. "No, there's nothing behind door number 2 either. Maria was a good woman who did the best she could to help specials and she was a hero in her own right even though she didn't have abilities. She knew who I was and yet she treated me fairly, which was more than I had a right to expect from anyone at that time. But more importantly, she believed in me when no one else did. When everyone around her told her I was a dangerous killer, she chose to see the very small part of who I used to be, who I am now. I hurt someone very close to her and yet she forgave me, saved my life even. I can't tell you what that meant to me at the time. I was used to being hunted or trapped, not shown mercy. She saw me not as I was, but what I could be. And for that, I respected her."

"She sounded like an awesome person." She told him honestly. Anyone who gained his respect had hers as well. "So did you ever have a girlfriend?" She lowered her voice a bit and curiously floated, "Or are you gay?" He gave her an incredulous look that prompted her to hastily add, "I mean, if you are that's cool. I don't have a problem with it, I just thought…"

He rolled his eyes to put an end to his flustered daughter's blathering. "No, I'm not gay. I did have a girlfriend once…sort of." He quietly answered, painful memories of Elle surfacing to remind him that the only time he even came close it was yet another cruel trick. "But she wasn't what she seemed."

Jenna could see the sadness in his deep brown eyes, so she thought better of pushing him to explain something that was obviously painful for him. "Well, I hope you find someone." She smiled at her father. "You deserve to be happy, Dad."

He looked up at his daughter, a little surprised by her concern for his welfare, and he affectionately grinned. "I am." He proclaimed, and he was. A warm bloom of peaceful contentment filled his chest and it was humbling and beautiful. He had always taken care of her, looked after her, and directed all his attention into meeting all of her needs, but it was always a one way flow of energy. Only now did the caring become mutual and although it was a little frightening for him, to be loved and respected once more was almost overwhelming. It was all he ever wanted and it immediately silenced the beast within him that cried for blood.

Jenna was pleased that she could make him smile, and she believed him when he told her he was happy. "Why didn't you go to college?" She wondered aloud. "I mean, you're obviously smart. You could have been a rocket scientist or something."

"I could have been a lot of things." He grumbled. "But circumstances being as they were at the time, I couldn't really go. I had to go straight to work to support my adoptive mother."

"You were adopted?" The longer she sat there, the more she realized that despite living with him for 18 years, she didn't really know him at all.

He nodded as he rummaged through the cabinets to gather plates and utensils. "Yes, I was. And before you ask, yes I knew my birth parents, yes at least one of them had an ability, and no, they are not alive anymore." Slam dunk- no explanation required.

"What was it like when you found out you were a special?" She helped him arrange the dinnerware so he could concentrate on relaying the tale.

"There wasn't one moment, really." He recalled, pulling the steaming dish from the oven and setting it on a potholder on the counter to cool. "But there always was this sense that I didn't belong, that I was different in some way. Some of it could have been the fact that I was adopted." He granted with a casual shrug, poking a few holes deep into the casserole to make sure it was indeed fully cooked. "I didn't find that out until much later in my life, but it was more than that. I just somehow _knew_ how things worked. My adoptive father was a watchmaker, but I didn't really study what he did, nor did I go through any formal training yet I was able to do it. Unlike other specials who can conjure fire or freeze things at will, my ability was always quietly working in the background, without my volition. Perhaps that's why I never really noticed. It always just was."

"So you're smart because of your ability?" She checked. It seemed grossly unfair, but a definite advantage if he ever took the SAT's.

"It probably just enhanced any natural aptitude I had." He corrected. "But it's what also allows me to gather many powers at once. I can figure out how they work, almost at a molecular level."

"Does Peter's work like that too?" She couldn't help but be fascinated by the prospect of having so many powers that she could pull out at a moment's notice. No one would mess with her.

He carefully cut perfectly symmetrical and even squares into the noodles and scoffed. "No, Peter has his own way of operating. He doesn't think about it at all, for him it's practically reflexive. Easy acquisition, but very little control- at least initially."

Jenna looked eagerly around her father's body to the steaming square of delightful food he made for her and her stomach growled. She was hungry, but she didn't want him to stop talking now that he was finally on a roll. "So it's harder for you to get abilities from others, but easier to control them once you do."

"Yes, but I haven't done it in a very long time." He grumbled. Although he was physically hungry, that wasn't what stirred in the pit of his stomach. It was almost as though even alluding to his innate need for a fix made the urge stronger. It used to be so easy for him to find a target, cut open the head and feel the pleasant numbness overtake him as his IA absorbed and replicated another's powers with no feelings of remorse or fear of being caught. Just thinking about it made the itch almost unbearable.

"Do you think I have an ability?" She asked quietly over her dinner.

He could see the same feeling in her eyes that he once had: the desire to be something more, something better, something more _special_. "I don't know." He plainly stated, pouring more wine for himself. "Chances are you will as both your mother and I did, but it's no guarantee." After a few moments of silence, he cordially ventured, "If you did have an ability, what would you want it to be?"

She chewed thoughtfully and finally responded, "I want to live forever like you. That way you can make this for my birthday for all eternity."

He reached across the counter and squeezed her hand lightly. He gave her a bittersweet smile and softly said, "Happy birthday, Jenna."


	14. Back in Black

**A/N: Howdy to lapiduslives and OneofJennifer! Now we're cooking with gas!**

**Chapter 14- Back in Black**

_Age:27_

Deep inside he always knew that it was a near certain statistical probability that Jenna would have an ability. After all, he had scientific proof that she carried the allele that gave her the propensity to be extraordinary even though probability didn't prelude possibility. Like so many other human characteristics, environmental conditions can inhibit or accelerate the expression of any given trait and it was possible that she would never meet just the right circumstances to fully develop anything.

But as he listened to her nearly hyperventilate on the phone, he found himself thinking that it was largely his fault for having so many additions to his DNA. Looking back, he should have been thankful that she was as normal and healthy as she was given the sheer number of mutations he carried. Her fate was nearly sealed at conception because of him, but it was almost equally Peter's fault because of his meddling by sending Stephanie his way to begin with and it was his doing that put Jenna where she was. He helped get her into this mess and he was going to help her out of it, although deep down he knew that between them he was going to do most of the heavy lifting. It only seemed right, he supposed, he was her biological father whereas Peter had merely been her close surrogate.

About midway through her junior year, Jenna finally wised up and realized that while theatre may have been her passion, it didn't offer her much of a future. In need of an actual major for her degree, Peter suggested she use her natural propensity for friendliness and efficiency for a career in medicine. He was predictably thinking of nursing while Gabriel was gunning for doctor, but Jenna stumped them both and settled on social work. Much like acting, Gabriel frowned thinking that no matter how noble or enjoyable her pursuit, it doomed her to a life of thankless poverty. Peter was a bit more encouraging, seeing the potential good that she could do for the downtrodden of the city as if the Boy Scout needed a sidekick. Even though such a late major switch added yet another year to her tenure and two more years of graduate school, Gabriel could be proud to say that his daughter held an advanced degree even if it didn't have the prestige of engineering or medicine.

It was a long process, but when she would stop by his house for dinner and breathlessly tell him of how she saved some kid in Harlem from his abusive parents, or found a job for an ex-drug addict, he relented because he knew how important it was for him to be proud of her. It was all he ever wanted from his own mother. He needed to know that she was fine with him fixing watches instead of being the president of the United States, and he remembered the anguish that came from never being accepted as he was- either as a watchmaker or a special. He was determined to never make Jenna feel as though she always had to be something more or somehow wasn't good enough, so if smiling and nodding as she explained the intricacies and shortcomings of the public welfare system made her feel better about herself and her chosen career, so be it.

She moved to Brooklyn and took a job with the city as a social worker after doing a short internship with Damian. Nathan was still in office, but he didn't have the stamina or patience to keep up with young and energetic college kids with heads full of ideas on how they were going to singlehandedly change the country. He wasn't on the floor casting votes as often as he once did, and in his estimation, didn't feel as though he had much to teach anyone although there was more than just a subtle hint of sarcasm in his voice when Gabriel spoke to him about it. Damian, on the other hand, was in his late 40's and still very much a player on the beltway in Washington. He was well connected and respected, but more importantly willing to give Jenna a behind the scenes look at how public policy was really made. Ever the idealist, he took his job as a lobbyist for specials seriously and he doggedly pursued it to great effect. By the end of her tenure, Jenna was exhausted but enlightened.

She loved her job even though the hours were long and he didn't see as much of her as he would have liked. He understood how important it was for her to make a good impression early in her career to advance, but that wasn't her prime motivation. Much to Peter's delight, she was moved to save the city one sad case at a time. There was just too much suffering in her estimation and she spent all her time and energy fighting for the underdog. Gabriel couldn't say he wasn't just a teeny bit proud that he raised such a contentious young woman even if at times he had to threaten to go to her office and forcibly drag her away from her desk just as he did when she didn't want to leave a toy store as a child. But as he found out, he could take the girl from the job but he couldn't make her stop doing it.

When she wasn't at her desk calling everyone she knew in the city looking for a job placement or pro bono legal assurance for a client, she spent at least part of her weekends volunteering her time in homeless shelters. Gabriel was never entirely comfortable with the arrangement not because of who she offered her skills to for free, but because of where the shelters tended to be: poverty level, high crime, desolate blocks of the city where those without could be ignored en masse so as not to bring down the property values of the wealthy Park Avenue set. Every time he expressed his concerns, either she or Peter would pepper him with the usual talking points: the homeless are people too who have bad luck or no marketable skills. They didn't deserve to be treated poorly, some have no access to mental health or substance abuse treatment yada yada. Gabriel never once stated otherwise, but he knew from experience that people like him- killers, rapists, and thieves, moved among them because there was little chance of being caught. It wasn't the raving, unmedicated schizophrenic that worried him, it was the one sane criminal who picked Jenna out as a well to do target that left him feeling uneasy. As he listened to her gasp and choke with fear on the other end of the phone, he wanted to sigh and say 'I told you so,' but things were bad enough as it was. She didn't need him to make it worse, in fact, she reached out for him to help her and he was running as fast as he could go toward her. It was perhaps 3 miles, but he could make it in about 12 minutes if he sprinted because his regeneration would keep him from dropping dead of a heart attack.

"Dad?" She hiccupped between hysterical sobs. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, baby. I'm still here." He replied in a calm, soothing tone. He understood her panic, but he had to get her to calm down if he was going to successfully resolve the situation. "Are you sure he's dead?" It was something he never imagined himself asking his daughter, but he had to start with the basics.

"Yeah!" She cried frantically. "I'm pretty sure you can't live without a head!" He suppressed a frown while she went on, sounding as if she were about to vomit. "God, there's so much blood…"

"Jenna, listen to me." He instructed in a firm voice in an effort to keep her from falling apart entirely. He meant to kill Brian Davis and the resulting guilt was nearly overwhelming. He couldn't imagine what accidently taking someone's life felt like. "Did anyone see you?"

She seemed to become more aware of her surroundings as she sniffled and gave a timid, "No. I…I don't think so. He just attacked me and I…I don't really know what happened. I turned and…"

"That's not important now." He hastily cut her off as his lungs screamed for air and he dodged unsuspecting pedestrians like he was playing a game of high speed Twister. "What's important is time. You need to get out of there before someone sees you with the body. Do you have any blood on you?"

"What?" She asked in a daze.

"Are your clothes bloody? If they are, get rid of them." He demanded as he hurdled a large dog on a leash. The owner yelled something at him, no doubt obscene, but he didn't care enough to look back. "I'm almost there, baby. Keep calm, walk away if you can, or find a safe place to hide, ok?"

"O…ok." She stammered as shock began to set in. He hung up the phone and pushed himself harder. His heart threatened to explode in his chest from exertion and his oxygen starved body ached and his vision went fuzzy around the edges, but he didn't think of slowing down one bit. He never ran so hard in his life for anything, but his child needed him and he regretted never taking speed or straight up teleportation from any of his victims. He could have called Peter or perhaps even Hiro, but both had a tendency to get all wrapped up in the morally right thing to do and he didn't have time for that. The situation called for swift, decisive action and he was just the man for the job. Who better to call to handle a murder scene than your serial killer father?

He pulled up short at the darkened corner between abandoned lots where Jenna said she was, sucking huge amounts of air into his deprived lungs desperately as he looked around for her. Perhaps four blocks back, the pale light of the sign for the St. Regent's homeless shelter bathed the filthy street and the few lonely souls who lingered outside in a sickly glow. Even though it was dark and the street was abandoned and littered with trash and broken bottles, it would have been the quickest route back to the subway and it was the only earthly reason he could imagine Jenna passing that way. The back to back empty lots afforded little privacy, hardly the ideal place to deal with a decapitated body. Nonetheless, Gabriel waded through the ankle deep remnants of modern life that reeked of decomposition and human waste to approach what was left of the man that attacked his daughter so he could better assess the situation and determine the best way to contain it.

Jenna was exaggerating a bit when she told him he had lost his head, but the jagged, imprecise gash that left the tissues of his neck exposed would have likely been fatal in seconds. The scruffy, unkempt man with torn and mismatched clothing lay sprawled on his back with his arms extended as though he were making an angel out of his bed of refuse, but it didn't move Gabriel in the slightest. All he felt was a mild sense of irony that the man would die in such circumstances and that by the looks of it, Jenna had done it with hasty, unfocused telekinesis. It was the power with which Sampson killed his mother, it was the way he personally dispatched his victims, and it was the way Jenna defended herself without knowing she could. In some ways he was almost thankful that she didn't have some exotic power that he himself didn't possess. At least with something so familiar, his hunger wasn't even remotely interested in her because it would do nothing to further his own evolution. He shuddered to think of how it might have been otherwise because continued control and suppression would not be an option. He reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone and sent an urgent text message. If he was going to keep Jenna safe, he needed help.

"Dad?" Her tiny voice drifted from across the street where she squatted behind a pile of old tires.

He took one last look at the body, the victim's eyes open wide as though he suddenly understood the meaning of life even as he lost his, and slowly turned to levitate himself out of the morass. He felt tainted as it was without rotting food, used needles, and dirty condoms clinging to the soles of his shoes. He hadn't used his abilities so openly or extensively for almost 30 years, but he found it just as easy as he always did after his body made slight adjustments to the mechanics of fine control. It was a kinesthetic sense that had long lie dormant, and to use his gifts once more felt liberating and familiar smirk twisted his lips.

Aside from holding her thrown history book in midair, Jenna had never watched her father use any of his many alleged abilities, so to watch him linger just above the ground like a grim reaper dressed in black gave her pause. But it was more than that. There was a certain predatory hardness to his eyes that made him seem cold and almost otherworldly and a nearly imperceptible change in his body posture that spoke of absolute power and possession. It was as if he were a coiled snake ready to strike: calm, patient, and deadly. Even though her mind told her she had nothing to fear, her body screamed at her to run. For one brief moment, she could see the man her history book talked about: the cruel, all powerful, merciless terrorist that took lives by the dozen and destroyed facilities at will. The man before her was not the man she grew up with, that was for certain. Her father was a gentle but firm person who patiently corrected her and strived to always love and support her even if he didn't entirely understand her latest whim. The only things he was a terror to were germs and dust, but the person that held out his hand to her was someone else entirely and she shrank back slightly until whatever it was that possessed him released its grip and his eyes softened into something more human and recognizable again.

At first he wasn't entirely sure why his daughter was cringing away from him when he risked an aneurysm and several potential lawsuits for assault as he nearly shoved people out of the way on his mad dash to get to her, but enough of the hunger stirred within him to remind him of what he must have looked like to her. He lowered his hand along with his eyes while he cleared his throat. He had always been so careful to keep Sylar under tight control so she would never have to see him, but the circumstances of murder and a body brought it out of him all too easily. He didn't want to frighten her, but he knew that his best chance lie in giving into his most basic instincts with the hope that she could someday forgive him. Still looking to the side so as not to stare directly at her, he stated in a low voice, "If you want to get out of this, you have to do exactly as I say and don't ask questions. Do you trust me?"

"Get out of it?" She asked in disbelief. "Dad, I killed someone! We have to wait for the cops…"

Gabriel looked sharply at her and his eyes practically narrowed to slits. "You called the police?" She took a step back, unsure of how to respond. He thrust his phone at her at the sound of approaching sirens. His only thought was to save her at any cost, even if it meant giving himself up and potentially finding himself back in the system that he fought so hard to get out of. "Take this and hide. I mean it, Jenna. We don't have time to argue. Peter will find you and when he does, tell him to take you someplace safe." When she seemed frozen with fear and unable to reach out to him, he gently approached her and placed the phone in her coat pocket. He gave her a sad smile as he brushed the hair away from her forehead to place a soft kiss on the faint scar that stood as his reminder that he'd failed her and whispered, "Run and don't look back. You have to trust me, baby. _Go_."

She stumbled away with a few hesitant steps before she found the courage to break into a run just as the lights of the police cars became visible. She swerved behind a parked car and squatted, disobeying her father's directive by looking back. She didn't know what he meant by Peter was going to find her, but she didn't have to wait long. He looked a little confused at first when he just popped out of nowhere making her cover her mouth to stifle a frightened squeak, but he took stock of the situation and thought it best to take cover with her. "What's going on?" He asked with a worried look while he watched swarms of police flood the street with guns drawn, shouting chaotically for a single, tall man to simultaneously put his hands up, get on the ground, put his hands behind his head, walk backwards slowly, kneel, and put his hands behind his back- leaving some room for doubt as to exactly what position they wanted him to be in. His heart sank when he realized that it was Gabriel. Even in the flashing lights and at such a distance he would have known that silhouette anywhere. His first thought was that he had finally given into his urges, but he would never have let Jenna witness it in a million years if he did.

Jenna watched the scene with a lump in her throat. They were arresting the wrong person. "I killed someone." She choked out faintly.

"You what?" He asked sadly. "Jenna, I can't imagine you would do something like that unprovoked. What happened?" He tried to pull her attention away from the sight of her father being kicked to the ground and handcuffed like he were a fox surrounded by a pack of hunting dogs. He knew it was going to get a lot worse for him if they found out who he really was, but he understood why he would take such a serious risk. It was just what a loyal father would do for his child and Gabriel was no different no matter how special or flawed he thought he was.

"This man," she quietly recited, her brown eyes brimming with fresh tears, "he asked me for some money after I left the shelter. I didn't have any, but he kept following me. He…" she stopped to choke back the swelling tide of fear and remorse at the memory, "he grabbed me by the arm and tried to kiss me. He said if I didn't have any money, I could give him something else. I don't know why, but it reminded me…" she couldn't make herself put words to what happened to her on prom night, or at least as much as she could remember of it. "And I didn't want to be a victim again. Something inside of me just…I don't know. I turned to push him off me and he just went flying but I swear I didn't touch him. I just stood there trying to figure out what happened and he got up. He was really angry and he called me a dirty freak. He saw my necklace," she absentmindedly reached up to her throat to roll the small diamond in her fingers, "and he lunged at me. I raised my hand to stop him and as I did, his neck just…" She went silent as her mind replayed the sudden spray of crimson that poured from his neck and the shocked look on his face. "And he died, right there. I didn't know what to do, so I called Dad."

Peter glanced back at the sea of flashing lights and squinted when he realized what he had been called so urgently for. Gabriel was probably going to tell them he did it just to keep Jenna off the radar and she needed an exit. He returned his attention to Jenna and gave her a supportive hug. "I know you feel scared and sad, but I can help you. I can show you how to use your ability, how to control it so nothing like this ever happens again." He never came close to killing anyone but himself when he discovered he had an ability, and he could all but feel her overwhelming confusion and remorse. "But we have to get you out of here before someone finds us."

"We can't leave him." She protested, gesturing vaguely to the flotilla of cop cars. "He didn't do anything. It was me."

"He knows that." He assured her. "And I know that. But believe me, Jenna, you don't have any idea of what you would be in for if you turned yourself in. It was tragic, but it was an accident. You have the right to defend yourself and that's what you did. He knows what he's doing and you have to trust him and me, ok? Would either of us do anything to hurt you?"

"No." She admitted miserably. "But we have to do something." If accidently taking another person's life wasn't bad enough, knowing her father was going to be charged with it was even worse. If they found out Sylar wasn't really dead, it would just make the deception all that more believable. She felt so guilty on all fronts when all she wanted to do was run to the back of the cop car that held her father, rip open the door and hug him with everything she had and tell him she loved him. She wasn't entirely naive, she heard stories about what when on in facilities that housed specials.

"And we will." He vowed with utter conviction. "We can help him by leaving. I can call some people and so can you to try and get him out of this." She looked to him confused, but hopeful. "The first person we need to call is your former boss, Damian. He probably has the most swing of anyone in the system right now, but it won't hurt to call Claire to see what she can do too. Can you do that?" He knew that giving her a task, an important one even, would be the key to gaining her cooperation. He had to get her out before all of Gabriel's efforts were in vain. "Then let's get going." He smiled as he whisked them far away from the scene of the crime.


	15. Homecoming

**Chapter 15- Homecoming **

Gabriel let his head slowly roll to the side, allowing gravity to gently drain the running blood out of his nose rather than it sliding down the back of his throat, saving him from choking to death. After three days of merciless beatings and inquisitions, he was going to take all the help he could get and it wasn't like he really had the strength to stop his head from lolling around even if he wanted to. If he ever wondered what happened to S2, he had his answer. Maria's accidental invention was at least being used for the purpose she had envisioned: it stripped criminals with abilities of powers, but thanks to reformulations and a strict edict by the Supreme Court that it not be permanent, fresh injections were pumped into his arm, thigh, neck, or ass every 12 hours depending on whatever body part was left defenseless at the time. It was only by counting the number of times he was assaulted with a needle did he arrive at the conclusion that he had been held for 3 days in the tiny cell.

For the most part it was business as usual as far as he could tell. So much for Peter's assertion that things were going to be different, he thought as he struggled to remain conscious through the pain. He was simply too stubborn and paranoid to pass out entirely. He wanted to know exactly what was being done to him at all times. Not that he could defend himself, but in his experience knowledge was power and if nothing else he could watch and look for patterns in behavior that he might exploit later. The effort was all the more great given the fact that his IA was gone and he couldn't exactly think clearly through the near delirium brought on by sleep deprivation and sheer agony, but he didn't let that stop him from trying. It all had a much greater purpose for him this time around. Every second he could hold out was another second it gave Peter to keep Jenna safe and despite it all, that was the only thing that mattered to him.

"We can do this all day, Mr. Gray." The young doctor almost sighed, his perfect white coat streaked with his patient's blood. "Your nose had already been broken and no doubt your nasal passages are swollen shut. All I would have to do is duct tape your mouth shut and you suffocate. Ever see someone suffocate to death, Mr. Gray? It isn't pretty. Horrible way to die, really."

Gabriel didn't attempt to turn his head back toward the reason his nose was broken in the first place, but he thought back to all of his victims. Did he ever see anyone suffocate? _I watched Emily Jessup drown, but that's probably not quite the same thing…_

"Now, you can tell us what you're hiding and…" He stopped short when the cell door creaked open. Gabriel assumed the latest dose of impotence had just walked through the door, but apparently it was something much worse judging by the glee in the doctor's voice if he was to be believed. "You can't say we didn't give you a chance, Mr. Gray. Now you'll see how it's really done."

Gabriel couldn't suppress his curiosity or his eyes from widening slightly when he finally turned his head to see a slightly thinner, older looking Noah Bennet glaring down at him just as he had way back in October 2007 the first time he was caught by the Company. If Noah recognized him at all, he didn't even flinch. "This is why you called me down here?" He asked bitterly, throwing a lazy gesture toward the restrained prisoner before him. "Some punk offs a homeless guy and you call me. Don't they train you anymore? Deal with it."

The doctor patiently smiled at the cantankerous old agent and tried to placate him. "We are dealing with it, Sir, but I thought you might lend a certain expertise in this case."

Noah scoffed at him. "Back in my day, we didn't call people in the middle of the night to come hold our hands over low level thugs. We bagged and…"

"Tagged. Understood, Sir, but respectfully things are just a bit different now than when you were in." He gently reminded him.

"Damn right they are." HRG lamented, looking over Gabriel's bruised and bloodied flesh. "He's been here a few days. How is it no one's noticed? That kind of thing is frowned on nowadays I'm told."

"By your daughter no doubt. She takes her job as overseer very seriously, but so far we've managed to keep his presence a secret to maintain…discretion…until we get the information we need." He too looked over the marks that covered his charge's body, each a failed attempt to extract said information. "How did you know he's been here a few days?" He asked curiously.

Noah put his hands on his hips and scowled at the man who was supposedly in charge of the black operation. "They really don't teach you anything, do they?" He chided as he slowly and painfully made his way to Gabriel's side. He wasn't as young as he used to be and all that chasing and shooting was finally catching up to him. He leaned against the side of the bed for support, although he was aware that it also made him look confidently nonchalant, which served his purpose as he was about to school the rookie. "See the way he is laying?"

The doctor seemed puzzled. "On his back?" Restrained as he was, he didn't have much of a choice as to what position he was in.

"Sort of." He granted with a twinkle in his eye. "But see how he's trying to twist a little? That takes a lot of effort and it adds pressure to his bruised ribs on his left, which tells me that he's pretty desperate to relieve the pressure sores that are developing on his shoulders and ass. He's been in that position for awhile and it usually takes two to three days for pressure sores to form. See? Simple."

"Wow." Was all the doctor could manage, but he should have known that from his own experience in hospitals. "We let him up occasionally."

"Obviously not enough." HRG grumbled. "So tell me you have a damn good reason for bringing me down here."

"We do, Sir." He stammered, flipping through papers on his clipboard. "The reason we called you is that he's a unique case, nothing like we've ever seen before and I know you have had some experience in things like this."

"Like what?" He asked flatly. Always being three steps ahead of everyone else, he already knew how Gabriel came to be confined in the tiny cell, to be poked, prodded, and tormented just as he did almost 40 years ago. The difference was Noah was on his side this time. "What makes him so special?"

"Well, his name is Gabriel Gray." He weakly began.

Noah wasn't impressed. "So he's an unlucky bastard who's parents obviously didn't like him to name him after a terrorist. It doesn't make him special."

"Right," the doctor granted, a little flustered that the seasoned agent was so surly, "but he was tested at intake for abilities and was found to have telekinesis."

That was pretty much what he found when the Company nearly killed him, but he knew there was more to the story. "Uh huh." He grunted suspiciously.

"Except when he was arrested, one of the officers noted a cut on his forehead that he sustained while resisting arrest…"

"I didn't resist." Gabriel weakly protested. "He put my face into a pile of broken glass and then put his knee in the back of my head. The only thing I resisted was getting a face full of shards."

The doctor didn't acknowledge the correction and finished, "…that promptly healed on the spot. So we know that he has the ability to regenerate in addition to telekinesis, yet testing only shows the presence of one singular power. We ran him through every test we had several times with several different examiners with the same result. If he has one additional ability, he may well have more."

"Possibly," Noah guardedly granted, "but it's exceedingly rare."

"It likely was just coincidence, but I researched Gabriel Gray in the old databases and came across some interesting information. Apparently, Sylar also had similar test findings although we all know that he had multiple abilities. And the victim he was arrested for was murdered by a slash to the throat, likely telekinetic." He handed Noah a close up photograph of the mortal wound.

He studied the picture with a keen eye. "So, you're telling me you think that this guy," he tossed his head toward Gabriel derisively, "is Sylar arisen?"

The doctor realized how insane it sounded. "He does kind of look like him as well…." He trailed off.

Noah shook his head as he tossed the graphic picture onto Gabriel's legs. "Son, Sylar is dead. I know because I was the one who killed him. Maybe they didn't tell you that in school, but I was in the firing squad and there's a hell of a lot to that story," he looked the young whelp up and down dismissively, "and probably a hell of a lot more that you don't know about. I knew Sylar very well, chased him for years, knew his work intimately. He prided himself on precision and accuracy and that," he jabbed a finger at the doctor's prime evidence, "looks like somebody took a rusty butter knife to the victim's throat. If he were alive, he would be insulted that you tried to pin such a hackjob on him. It's the work of an amateur at best or a copycat, which is what I think you have."

"Sir?" The doctor prompted anxiously. He thought he had a solid case even if it did sound improbable.

"This guy is a poser, a wannabe. He just so happens to look like Sylar," he glanced at Gabriel's swollen, bruised, and bloodied face and corrected himself, "hard to tell now, but did you know there are approximately 500,000 babies born every day? Billions of people have appeared on this earth in the 30+ years since Sylar was executed. One schmuck comes close and you think it's cause for alarm? Alright," he nodded with a gleam in his eye, "there's a test I know that will settle it for good."

The doctor watched as Noah slowly pressed on Gabriel's sore ribs, steadily adding pressure until the pain became unbearable and he closed his eyes tight and sucked air through his teeth in a hiss. He had to get him softened up, let him know he meant business. The old agent then picked up a scalpel and held his victim's head down with a surprising amount of force, peeling back an eyelid to reveal his widened, dark iris. His face was calm and unreadable as he painstakingly advanced the sharp blade toward Gabriel's eye, the tension of the moment and anticipated pain and trauma causing his heart monitor to beep faster until it nearly tripled its usual pace. He tried to turn his head away and he struggled against his restraints, but they held fast. Just as the tip of the blade hovered above the surface, he pulled back with a self satisfied smile. "It's not him." He declared smugly. "Sylar was the kind of man that would rather let you disembowel him and hang him with his own intestines before he gave you the satisfaction of letting you know he was afraid."

"But the regeneration…" The doctor weakly protested.

"A mistake by a cop who was apprehending a suspect." Noah shrugged. "I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but Sylar is dead. What you have is a copycat who wants to be famous. Nothing more." He sighed wearily. "Now if you'll excuse me, a tired old man needs his rest." His icy blue eyes twinkled as he added, "Besides, I don't want to be here when you have to explain to the higher ups why you kept him down here in these conditions without medical or legal representation. Things are indeed different than they used to be."

"What's going on here?" Claire asked angrily, looking around the tiny, cramped cell. She had been looking for Gabriel ever since Jenna called her and told her of what happened. She scoured the intake logs, interviewed personnel, and even did a top-to-bottom search of every facility in the metro area in her search for him, but she always came up empty and now she knew why. The space he was being held in wasn't even a real cell, it was a modified utility closet deep in the basement walls. It was cold, damp, and filled with trays of bloodied medical instruments and machines that kept them from going too far by alerting them when his heartbeat had become too slow or he wasn't getting enough oxygen to sustain his life. The only reason she found it was by following her father into the bowels of the building where he'd been summoned after he tipped her off.

Damian was right behind her, although the room was so small, it didn't afford him any room to actually enter. Yet he was tall enough to see over her head and gather the information he needed. Through all the years of doing his job, seeing what unbridled fear and hatred of specials made others capable of, and hearing the horror stories of what they had witnessed, it never got any easier, but this was something else entirely. The sheer level of brutality and disregard for another's life left him speechless and it reminded him of his own experiences during the war. Still, he couldn't help but appreciate the irony of it all. The first time he ever came face to face with Sylar, it had been him that freed him from his cell and now the roles were reversed. The very low level with which he shimmered had him concerned.

"Ms. Bennet," the doctor stammered, searching for some explanation as to why he was clearly breaking the law, "there is a perfectly good reason for this."

Claire narrowed her eyes and gave him a curt, "I'm sure there is and I'm even more certain that Mr. Montgomery here would just love to hear it since he'll be the one seeing to it that you are at the very least fired if not actually prosecuted."

"I'm thinking prosecuted." Damian affirmed, taking the doctor's clipboard from his hands to peruse the damning evidence himself. He frowned and inquired, "Any reason why you were giving a telekinetic nearly twice the dose of suppressant every 12 hours rather than the 24 the drug was formulated for? You know you could have killed him? It's amazing he can even blink on his own."

"We thought he was also a regen." He answered quietly. The thought did occur to him that he might need a lawyer, but something about the taller man's demeanor told him it wouldn't matter. He seemed very practiced at this sort of thing.

"But it says in your own notes that after seven rounds of assessment testing, which is grounds for criminal charges in and of itself for excessive cruelty," he noted dryly, "that the only ability you ever found was telekinesis. There's nothing in here that says he has a regenerative ability. So either you're trying to cover your ass or you keep poor medical records, either of which is considered negligence. Add to that the fact that it looks as though food was withheld, he was only given small amounts of water to drink, absolutely no wound care was provided, the unsafe holding conditions, and the obviously excessive violence to which he was exposed, and it isn't looking very good for you, Doctor."

"We believed him to be highly dangerous." He nearly shouted, seeing his medical license slipping away along with his own freedom. "We have a right to protect ourselves."

"You do," Damian agreed congenially as he handed Claire the clipboard for safekeeping while he released Gabriel from his restraints, "and he has rights as well, which you ignored. Now I could be a real jerk and suggest to the DA that you also be charged with false imprisonment since Mr. Gray was granted bail two days ago." Before the doctor could protest, Damian fished in his pocket and produced Gabriel's walking papers and waved them with a small smile. "Or, worse yet, attempted murder."

"That sounds about right." Gabriel winced as he tried his best to sit up on his own. In the end, he only managed to half roll onto his side. His arm flopped across his body languidly and it made him look like a discarded ragdoll, but he still considered it a victory because it gave his pressure sores some much needed sweet relief even if it did make breathing a little more difficult.

"In the meantime, you will be remanded into custody and prosecuted to the fullest extent." Claire promised. "Believe me, I will see to it that you won't get away with this. This is exactly the kind of thing we are trying to prevent."

"What side are you on?" The doctor asked incredulously.

"Obviously not yours." Gabriel listlessly taunted, a delirious smirk winding its way across his pale face despite the pain and exhaustion he felt. It didn't matter anymore. It was all over. He was safe and so was Jenna. As he lay there in the cold and his own blood, his bruises throbbing and his wounds swollen and oozing, all he could do was look forward to seeing his girl again. Not right away, he didn't want her to see him as he was, but as soon as it was possible. His eyes slowly drifted shut and he imagined himself hugging her gently, thankful that she was safe and grateful to Peter for safeguarding her when he couldn't be there to do it himself. He half opened them again when he felt a soft, tentative hand weave its way through his hair.

"Gabriel?" Claire called worriedly, her concern etched clearly on her eternally youthful face as she looked down on him. With her golden hair, she looked like an angel and his mouth quirked upward knowing that she wasn't quite as pure as she seemed. "I'm going to go get a doctor, _a real one_, to look at you. You look awful."

He found the strength to fully open his eyes wide as if he were in a panic, and his heart monitor confirmed his sudden spike of anxiety at the mention of it. "No," he looked to her almost pleadingly as he held her wrist and forced himself to calm down so the damned machines wouldn't give him away, "I just want to go home."

She could have easily pulled away from him, but the dread in his voice and the pity of it all made her stay. He had never asked anything so earnestly of her and she didn't really know how to react to such overt vulnerability from him. "I can't let you leave like that, Gabriel. You're a mess. You need help." She could have let him leave as he was, but what she meant was she didn't want him to.

"No more doctors." He whispered miserably as he let her go, his hand falling helplessly toward the ground.

She looked desperately at Damian as if he could somehow demand it. Although he too was clearly disturbed by the glaring need, he gave a resigned shrug and sighed, "He has a right to refuse medical treatment like anyone else." It wasn't advisable, but it was an option. "If he wants to go home, I can take him." The very least he could do was make sure he made it home alive even if he died thereafter, possibly for real this time.

She pursed her lips and leaned in close so he was the only one to hear her proposal. "Then at least let me help you. Let me just clean you up a little so you don't look like a murder victim walking out of here." His eyes wavered for just a bit as he tried to evaluate her offer. He didn't want her nursing him because it felt too…personal…given their history, but the way she phrased it made it sound more like she had a reputation to protect and if that were the case, if there really was no personal stake in it for her, then he wouldn't exactly agree but he wouldn't try to stop her either and his ambivalent expression told her as much. It was probably as good as she was ever going to get from him. "I'll be right back." She promised before she ushered everyone out of the room. She was on thin ice as it was and she knew there was no way he would cooperate if it meant admitting that he needed any sort of help in front of others.

Damian waited patiently in the hall, gathering as many facts and as much evidence as he could while he rapidly fired off emails to those who owed him favors in an effort to ensure that Gabriel's experience didn't go unpunished. More importantly, that he wouldn't face prosecution for a crime he didn't commit. Between Noah, Nathan, and Claire he had loosely kept tabs on Gabriel and he knew about Jenna long before he took her on as an intern. He found her to be a nice balance of her parents in that she had Stephanie's charming personality and Gabriel's determination as well as his looks. It was surreal sitting across from her and catching certain facial expressions that reminded him of her father. He never told her that he was the one who actually autopsied him because he didn't know how much she knew about it and it was a pretty morbid thing for her boss to randomly drop over lunch as he carved up his steak.

But what he did know was that discovering he had an ability by virtue of finding himself charged with 4 murders after being shot was traumatic, so he could identify with her plight. He had to help her and he had to help Gabriel, who by assuming blame was only trying to protect his daughter. While some may have been surprised or even skeptical of his motivation, he wasn't because it wasn't too long ago that he had the courage to take 5 bullets in front of millions to save others. People seemed reluctant to give him the credit he was due and the respect he had earned, but Damian wasn't among them and he was willing to pull strings to at least in part repay him for his service. While life for specials was far from ideal, it was a sight better because of what Gabriel did to end the war. Without his sacrifice, he would never have had the life he did. He gave Claire a small, relieved nod when she passed him with a cart full of medical supplies. He was glad she talked some sense into him, although he completely understood his aversion to doctors.

Claire found Gabriel laying exactly as he was when she left, he hadn't moved an inch although he did seem to involuntarily flinch slightly when the cell door squeaked, no doubt a conditioned response. She made every effort to move slowly and well within his field of vision because she could see that just behind the softness of his eyes lie the darkness of Sylar, ever vigilant and ready to spring should he feel threatened. She hoped that he wouldn't see her as a threat, but the slightest misinterpreted move could trigger a reflex and even though he didn't have powers and she was indestructible, she couldn't help but still feel just a bit fearful as though she were literally in a cage with a wounded animal.

He could sense her trepidation in the way she nervously smiled and the hesitant way she dabbed the antiseptic on his wounds as if she were afraid of pressing too hard or expecting him to lash out in a rage. Even though the astringent stung like fire yet paradoxically felt freezing cold on his skin, he forced himself to remain perfectly still and he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to make eye contact with her. It was just too awkward and uncomfortable for him. He found himself wishing she would just pour the bottle on him and get it over with. It would feel like bathing in napalm, especially his face, but it would get him out of there faster.

She was actually grateful he closed his eyes because it was easier for her as well. They were just too intense to look at for any extended period of time. She didn't know how Peter could do it for a living or how he was able to mend Sylar as many times as he did. Surely there was some secret to it, like soothing a rabid dog. But without his focused glare, she found herself more relaxed and she tended to him with a little more confidence. It took a few experimental swipes before she found the sweet spot between thoroughly cleaning his many cuts and scrapes and being a bit overzealous. She knew she'd been a bit too rough when his mouth twitched into a miniscule grimace or he suddenly held his breath, but he was always stoic about it and never jerked away or growled as she expected him to. "So," she quietly said as she gently wiped away the crusty scarlet blood from a long trench that ran from his shoulder to the middle of his collarbone, hoping that some light conversation would help ease the tension, "Peter's been teaching Jenna how to use her ability. They had a rough start, but thankfully Peter is patient and it helps that he can heal." She giggled.

Gabriel smiled faintly. "She cut him to ribbons?" He guessed.

"Well, let's just say that it took her some time to get the hang of it." She answered, moving to a deeper cut on his forearm. She carefully laid his arm in her lap, softly brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of his elbow just to give his brain a different sensation to process other than pain. His facial muscles twitched faintly, but the fine hairs on his arm stood up and his monitor beeped erratically, making her smile deviously. She found another way to push his buttons in a friendly manner and she was starting to think that Gabriel was a lot more fun than Sylar could ever be.

He reached up and ripped the leads from his chest. He was tired of being betrayed by the machine that monitored his heart and he hoped Claire didn't make too much of it, but just that faint brush sent chills up his spine and it went a long way in making him feel more relaxed and casual with her attention. Just that little whisper of pleasure among all the pain was like finding an oasis in the desert, but he didn't want to give her the wrong impression either.

She wrapped the wound with snowy white gauze and secured it with skin tape before tacking the hardest part for last: his face. She took a deep breath and concentrated on an angry gash above his right eye, lightly stroking it with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. She gently traced the arch of his eyebrow, marveling at just how thick yet perfect it was up close. Those eyebrows had never been anything but menacing to her, but when his face was relaxed they were nothing short of magnificent. She couldn't imagine how much time he spent plucking or waxing in order to keep them manageable. She wanted to ask him, but it seemed rude. While she was lost in thought, she scoured a bit too hard, prompting him to squeeze his eyes shut tight. "Sorry." She hastily apologized, embarrassed to be caught pondering his personal grooming habits.

He took a deep breath and relaxed again, letting her know that all was forgiven. "Claire," his deep, smooth voice purred in the perfect articulation that usually put her on edge, "what were you thinking when you pulled the trigger?"

She pulled away, stunned. "At your execution?" He slowly opened his eyes to look at her, but they were curious, not cruel. "I…um.." she stammered, looking to the floor helplessly, "I don't really remember other than not really wanting to."

"Why?" He calmly prompted. "I thought of everyone you would be the most eager, perhaps to have the most motivation and the most satisfaction."

"So did I." She laughed sarcastically. "But I didn't. I guess at the very end I finally realized that you weren't the same person I used to know and I didn't want to destroy the person you had become because he was finally getting it right."

His eyes fell away and he whispered a soft, "Thank you" that was monumental for all its simplicity.

She hoped it gave him some measure of peace to know that his actions meant something to someone. She finished up and helped him into a sitting position. While she waited for his head to stop spinning, she got up the courage to ask, "Now that I know you weren't really dead, did you hear anything I said to you right after?"

He gave her a small, sly smile. "Do you regret it?" He wasn't about to tell her that immediately after he was, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world and he didn't hear her although he now wondered what she did have to say.

Typical of him, his answer was a non-answer so she just smiled at him mysteriously. Two could play at that game.

The ride home was as pleasant as could be expected given the traffic and the fact that despite being in a very posh luxury car with all the amenities one could ever imagine, he just couldn't get comfortable with all his injuries, but he had no choice but to abide it and rest his head wearily against the cool glass of the window.

"Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor?" Damian asked, glancing worriedly at his passenger. "I know of a few who work with us and are very trustworthy."

"I'm fine." Gabriel stubbornly grumbled.

"Wow. I don't have your lie detecting ability, but I'm going to have to call BS on you for that one." He chuckled.

Gabriel couldn't help but concede an amused grin. "You seem to be doing well for yourself. You have filled out nicely, you aren't the scrawny kid I remember. The goatee's a nice touch- business like yet still gives the impression of evil. Still wearing glasses?"

Damian gave a good natured laugh at his assessment. "Yeah, but now it's because I actually need them. Middle age is kind of rough."

"I just wear them to look like a pretentious ass." Gabriel admitted playfully. He would have laughed at his own hypocrisy, but it hurt too much. "So Jenna had nothing but good to say about her experience with you. It sounds like it was an enlightening glimpse into the underbelly of the true political system. I hope you didn't ruin her too much."

"Nothing I wouldn't tell my own kids." He promised as he reached forward to retrieve a picture he kept taped to the dash. "Two boys and a girl." He proudly beamed.

Gabriel took the worn picture and observed the well dressed family posed together, all smiling on cue although something wasn't quite right. "Your wife?" He guessed of the woman at his side.

"Was." He sighed. "We divorced about a year ago, but it was a long time coming. She said I worked too much, spent too much time away from home and she was right. I missed my kids growing up because I was so busy at my job. I guess I still wanted it to work while she wanted the money, but in the end we decided that it was best if we just went our separate ways. She took the kids and moved to California and now I talk to them on the phone once a week. Ironically, that's more than I talked to them while we all lived in the same house." Gabriel handed the picture back, but he wasn't about to tell him he was sorry. He didn't feel a need to apologize for crappy relationships when he was surrounded by them. He had yet to see anyone around him who was married be happy and that was the primary reason he never got too involved with anyone. One Petrelli tried to poison the other, Noah and his wife divorced, His father walked out on his mother, and Maria lost her spouse to murder. It was his fault, but it underlined his notion that relationships were doomed to failure. "Anyway, Jenna likewise had many stories to share about you. It sounded like you managed to avoid the mistakes I made, but I can't imagine that being a single father was easy for you."

"It probably isn't easy for anyone." He sighed. He didn't see his choice as deserving any special merit. It was a great responsibility yes, but one he chose not to walk away from and that was all there was to it.

"Well, I can tell that you love her very much to do what you did."

"It isn't over yet." He reminded him. "In fact, it's probably just starting."

"Nah." Damian disagreed confidently. "I have a cadre of lawyers at my disposal who have been working on this nonstop. And from what they're telling me, you'll walk. The evidence against you is circumstantial at best. There were no witnesses, no evidence, and most importantly, no confession. You didn't give them anything and with what they did, I'm sure any reasonable jury would consider it intimidation and coercion, but it won't even go that far. No prosecutor will have the balls to take a case that weak in front of a judge and jury. Now if you wanted to make an example of the people who were responsible, we could take them to court…"

"No." Gabriel groaned. "That means I would have to go to court and testify. No." He massaged his temples to erase the mental image such a spectacle would create. "If it wasn't for Noah, they might have found out. They were so close. I just want to live a quiet life."

"I thought so." Damian nodded as he pulled up to Gabriel's building. "That's why Claire took the liberty of contacting Rebel to erase your records in the system. It's like none of this ever happened. Go on," he smiled at his former teacher, "enjoy your quiet life. You've earned it."

Gabriel ignored the startled look of the doorman and the mistrustful glare of the old woman in the elevator. He shut the door to his apartment with a weary sigh and painfully shuffled to the couch where he collapsed. He wanted to lay in his bed where he'd be more comfortable, but he just didn't have the strength to make it.

Jenna thought she heard the door close while she was in the kitchen, and she timidly entered the living room to see her father sprawled on the couch, looking as bad as she had ever seen anyone and her eyes filled with tears. "Dad?" Her trembling voice called. He wasn't expecting her to be there and he didn't want her to see him in such terrible condition, but it was too late. "My God, Dad." She gasped, crouching beside him and reaching out her hand to touch him, but it hovered just above his arm because she didn't want to hurt him any worse than he was. "What did they do to you?"

His eyes darkened and he looked down, unwilling to discuss it. "It doesn't matter," he assured her in a dispassionate tone, "it's over now. No one will be looking for either of us."

"But why aren't you healing?" She asked distressed. "Your ability…"

"It will come back when the drugs wear off and I will be fine."

It seemed to give her a little hope, but she asked "How long will that be?"

He sighed and grimaced slightly as he tried to reposition himself. "I don't know." He admitted. "But it will. You don't have to worry about me."

She found the courage to smile as she slipped her hand into his and gently rubbed the back of it soothingly. "I don't have to, but I do. You have always been there for me when I needed you, Dad. Now let me help you for once. I'll stay with you and look after you until your powers come back, ok?"

"I can take care of myself, I'm not an invalid." He protested with a soft smile to temper the sarcasm.

She knew her father was a stubbornly proud man and she could imagine what a change it must have been for him to suddenly be so vulnerable to pain and injuries when he hadn't experienced an ache or pain in years, but really, how many chances would she get in her lifetime to show her gratitude for all he did to raise her? "Ok then," she laughed as she patted his hand, "I'm going to just pretend to play doctor, maid, and cook around here like I did when I was little and I expect you to play along like you always did."

A genuine smile spread across his face as he recalled the time she spread shaving cream all over the furniture thinking it was furniture polish or the time she made him a 'cake' out of raw hamburger, eggs, flour, pickles, and the entire shaker of salt. Being a good, immortal and therefore fearless father, he bravely took a bite and told her it had to bake in the oven for a really long time when what he was really doing was waiting for her to go to bed so he could throw the gloppy mess away without hurting her feelings. He just hoped her medical skills had improved since the last time she tried and failed to put a Band-Aid on his finger…


	16. The Circle of Life

**Chapter 16- The Circle of Life**

_Age: 32_

It took an embarrassingly long 6 days for the drugs to wear off and his powers to come back online, but although the circumstances were less than ideal, he was glad for the time he spent with Jenna. It seemed he didn't see her much anymore and he was grateful that she chose to hang around to fuss after him even if he did pretend it bothered him a little. Their quiet meals together reminded him of when she was younger, and perhaps still held an idealized vision of him as invincible. He didn't want her to see him bleeding and broken because in some small way he enjoyed being her personal hero and knight in shining armor, but now it was tarnished and the S that had formerly been imprinted on his chest had faded somewhat.

It did worry him initially that she might think of him as somehow less reliable or fallible, but if she did she gracefully hid her reservations and tried to have at least a little fun with his unusual circumstances by daring him to drink an entire bottle of wine in one sitting just to see what would happen. If she was expecting that his getting drunk just because he could was going to be some kind of spectacle, she was sorely disappointed because the only thing it resulted in was a light flush of pink across his cheeks, a few goofy smiles, a surprisingly detailed and coherent discourse on string theory, him going to bed early to sleep it off, and her having to take him out to dinner at some later date as the consequence of a lost bet. He did not get giggly, throw up, or pass out as she suspected he would, but who knew that he could hold his alcohol so well for a person who hadn't been impaired in nearly half a century? If nothing else, he did enjoy the pleasant buzzing, floating feeling that filled his head which replaced the stubborn aches and pains that had been his constant company and he would, of course, enjoy cashing in his prize.

But with the return of his powers came unexpected consequences. There was no denying that her father had changed after his arrest and detainment, which he stubbornly refused to discuss or even acknowledge happened in the first place. His previously soft brown eyes and warm smile had been replaced with a mask of tense indifference and an aura of cold darkness that made the air thick with buzzing tension. More and more she feared being around him because it usually didn't end well. She learned to read his body language as a means of preemptive defense. She knew that he was becoming angry or agitated not by the flat tone of his voice, which he always seemed to use, but she knew she was approaching the limits of his patience when his shoulders tensed, his movements became slower and more deliberate, or his eyes became hyperfocused or dark and hard like obsidian. Whatever he experienced was obviously horribly traumatic for him, his physical condition was evidence enough of that, but what she was seeing was more than just posttraumatic stress in the classical sense. She knew from her work experience that people sometimes had difficulty in coming to terms with truly terrifying events, but even so they usually maintained their personal integrity in terms of who they were at their very core. Her father was not a textbook case and it seemed to her that his entire personality had changed to the point that only remnants of the man she used to know were apparent.

He was never violent with her. Never once did he even attempt to lash out at her, but it didn't mean she never got the impression that it hadn't crossed his mind, especially when she didn't want to take no for an answer and wanted him to tell her what was bothering him. Or, she would try to push him for answers on things she knew were off limits: what he did during the war, why he wanted to be alone all the time, what he wasn't telling her about his past. While he never physically reacted, he had his own warning system that consisted of his first going completely silent and staring at her in the hopes that she would get the hint that she was at the point of no return and just as when she was a child, it usually worked. But on the few occasions that she ignored the warning signs, he could make her cry by saying the most cruel things with such a cold tone and a slight snarl.

Gabriel knew he was spinning out of control and although she could never appreciate it, he was trying his best to push her away to save her. If she could just go on with her life and forget about him, it would make him happy. While he was strapped to the table in the basement of the facility he had plenty of time to think. Somewhere between being repeatedly sliced open with a scalpel and injected with sodium chloride that made his tissues burn, he realized that he had just been setting himself up for failure all along. It didn't matter if he could lead the perfect life and keep up appearances, under it all he was a wolf in sheep's clothing and the wolf was hungry. He could play the game as well as anyone, but in the end he couldn't hold out forever. He had a good run, Jenna was old enough to look after herself, he did his duty. Perhaps it was time to give in and feed his addiction and he preferred that Jenna consider him dead than know him for the monster he really was.

But if enduring all he had wasn't enough to reawaken the demons within, the past year's events certainly were. In rapid succession, he lost several tangible ties to his past and he could see the passage of time pushing him evermore away from all that was comfortable and familiar. The first call came from Claire. Her trembling, breaking voice was barely audible enough to inform him that Noah had died. He remembered just staring blankly at his kitchen counter for several seconds while he pondered the news. He knew it was inevitable by the way the old agent was barely able to walk on his own into his torture chamber at the facility to convince the powers that be he wasn't really who they thought he was. After all they had been through together, the only man that he respected if only because he was a worthy opponent was gone. Gabriel had at times been his target, partner, nemesis, waiter, ally, and only hope and although it was logical, it was still incomprehensible to think that of the two of them, it would be he that was left standing. No matter what he may have said otherwise, Gabriel always believed that the company man would be the death of him sooner or later.

He bought at sharp black suit and stood solemnly at the funeral, head down, hands clasped in front of him while Peter hugged Claire in an effort to comfort her. Incredibly, it was the first funeral he had ever attended aside from being forced to bury the Asian girl at Jessup's farm and twice being the guest of honor at his own. All his years on the earth, all the death he had witnessed and dealt, never once did he have to stand there looking at the corpse of someone he knew, trying to swallow down the knot that formed in his throat while everyone around him fell apart with grief. Even though he knew things were different between he and the rest of the heroes in attendance that used to hunt him, he couldn't help but feel as though he had no right to be there, as if his very presence was meant to mock Claire's despair or to announce to all that in the epic battle of good vs. evil he was the ultimate victor. He went to the graveside service as well but he lingered a few feet away, apart from the others like a ghost among the trees dressed in black and eternally mourning.

A few months later the nation learned of the death of Senator Nathan Petrelli, perhaps one of the country's longest serving and most loved politicians in recent history. Gabriel sat glued to his couch, rendered effectively useless by yet another piece of his life being torn away while he watched endless hours of television coverage recap Nathan's meteoric rise in politics, his push to identify and register specials, the capstone moment of finally 'catching' and executing him which required endless replays of seeing himself shot to death, his waning years including his many heart problems, and finally announcements about ways in which he was going to be commemorated locally. The city of New York planned on shutting down most of Manhattan to accommodate a state funeral and the expected millions that would attend to pay their last respects to the man who both outed and enslaved specials and offered a path to peace for all.

Although he knew Nathan well enough, his passing didn't have the same gravity as Noah's either because he only had limited dealings with him or because by that point he had already stopped feeling, but what made it worse was knowing that he had to make an appearance for the sake of Peter and Claire. She had lost both of her fathers within months, and he couldn't imagine how she must have felt about it. At least he was still very young when his fathers more or less became dead to him.

After everything that Peter ever did for him, he felt compelled in some way to do something because he just knew the empath would be a nervous wreck between his own grief and the varying degrees amplified by that of millions. At their very cores, he and Peter had widely divergent philosophies on life and Gabriel's tendency toward stoicism and statistical probability would be of no help to a man who needed comfort and warm love, but he was determined to visit Peter to quietly offer the only thing he possibly could: an island of calm support in the middle of his emotional storm. He didn't have to say anything, he just appeared on his doorstep with a steaming dish of stir-fry and hoped that Peter could just pick up on his cool vibe that by all accounts served to dull his emotional pain like a fast acting anesthetic. As much as Peter ribbed him about being able to turn his emotions on and off like a switch, it did have its moments of practicality. After a quiet meal that consisted mostly of reminiscing about Nathan's involvement in the war and how it affected them all, Peter thanked him for the food and gave him a deeply grateful smile that told him he understood the real reason he came as he and Emma waved goodbye. Gabriel nodded solemnly, but he knew that when Emma was no longer there to support him, it would be much harder and require far more than stir fry to keep him from coming completely unglued and he was fairly certain he wouldn't be up to the challenge.

By the time word reached him that Ando was killed in a traffic accident, he was fairly well numb. There was nothing to do but pick up what he had come to regard as his death suit from the cleaners and book a plane ticket to Nevada where Ando had taken up residence. He was never really close to Ando aside from being forced to room with him during his tenure as a slave, but the time he tried to kill him with Hiro's sword aside, he had nothing against the guy. He was, after all, a fallen comrade of the revolution and he owed him that much. It was perhaps the most disturbing of all the services he had attended, however, as there was no casket- only a small silver jar with his picture next to it. Cremation was not only the prevailing Japanese custom, it was a necessity in his case because due to the nature of his injuries an open casket funeral was an impossibility. He found out later from Peter that he had lost control of his motorcycle while riding in the mountains and tumbled down the side of a cliff for quite a distance. Hiro admirably took it well, although he knew as well as anyone that it was just for show.

Nathan's death brought up many things that he simply couldn't avoid anymore and Jenna was impatient for answers. Up until that time, Gabriel had never actually watched the footage of his execution and he never talked about it, but he couldn't keep it from the eyes of his grown daughter no matter how much he may have wanted to and he simply avoided her for as long as he reasonably could. Ando managed to buy him some time, but he had to come home sooner or later.

"So why did you do it?" She inquired curiously, perusing an old copy of the New York Times and the massive article on the front page that screamed 'Senator that Ended the Reign of Terror Dies'.

He knew very well what she was getting at, but he continued the painstakingly difficult task of replacing a tiny hairspring wire back into an antique pocket watch and pointedly asked, "Do what?"

"You know…" she shifted uncomfortably on the sofa in his library.

"No," he coolly retorted, "I don't. I can't read minds like Peter does. Why don't you enlighten me?" It wasn't really her fault, but the deal was he would be the lamb at slaughter and walk away never to be heard from again. He couldn't have anticipated the consequences of his actions at the time or the way he was never really able to simply close the door on that part of his past the way he wanted to.

"Forget it." She sighed miserably, folding her paper and gathering her things to go. He was in one of his moods again and she wasn't going to spend her Saturday night in tears.

"I desperately want to, but it seems you won't allow me." He accused, snapping the watch case shut.

She didn't want to cry, but he was just too efficient at cutting to the very heart of her. "You can't run forever and you can't just pretend that things didn't happen!" She shouted, tossing her hands in the air in exasperation. "I don't know what happened to you, Dad, but whatever it was, it has twisted you into a shell of the person I used to know. You used to be so kind and fun."

He raised his eyebrow to indicate he was at least entertaining her tirade even as he concentrated on his project. "And now?" He asked, sounding slightly disinterested.

"I don't know, but…" She could see the reaction she feared in his eyes, the way they constricted and seemed to burn holes into her very soul and she knew she'd gone too far.

He gently put down his tools and turned to face her while he gave her a tauntingly cruel smirk. "Malevolent? Vile? Callous? Inhuman? I am, Jenna, always have been and there's no wishing that away. I can't run, but you can." He lifted his hand and twitched his fingers to throw both doors of the study wide open, the heavy wood making a thunderous bang against the opposing walls.

For the first time in her life, she truly felt threatened by her own father. As much practice as she had with Peter, she could never really master her ability to anything approaching the same degree as Gabriel. For him the precision and sheer force seemed effortless. She slowly shook her head in disbelief. "No, you aren't. That's not how I know you."

"I am." He confirmed with just a hint of sadness in his voice as he returned to the watch and rubbed the shiny surface with his long fingers. "Time is a relative thing. Maybe from your perspective I am an entirely different person, but what you see is but a brief tick of the clock, a mere minute in the hours that have made my life. Your history book wasn't right, but it wasn't entirely wrong either."

"You said you did things a long time ago, but that's in the past, Dad. Stop living it as if it were today." She quietly implored him. "How long are you going to torture yourself?"

"How long will my victims be dead?" He asked rhetorically. "You ask me what I did during the war. I killed people." He said with a nonchalance that sent chills up her spine. "An assassin, really, but my solitary purpose was to take as many lives as possible. That was my job and I was exceedingly good at it. The resistance didn't have many people out on the front lines, so I had to pick up the slack and make it appear that there were more soldiers than there actually were by mass slaughter. That was my life day in, day out, all day, every day for months until the end when I had to take control of the mess and lead the entire thing myself." He recalled, his eyes showing absolutely no emotion. "I have no idea who many souls I sent packing. Absolutely no clue."

Jenna was speechless. She never imagined things to be so bad and now she understood why she couldn't even get Peter to tell her about her father's exploits. She put her things down and turned toward him, morbidly fascinated. He was finally going to give her the answers she wanted, even if they would be unpleasant to hear. "But you did what you had to." She consoled. "You fought so people like me could have a better life."

A cynical yet sad smile briefly marked his face at her charity. He knew she would think him evil, but if she was ever going to have anything close to a normal life, he couldn't continue to be a part of it. "That's not why I did it." He confided with a small shake of his head. "The reason I was good at it was because a part of me enjoyed it. I thrived on the absolute power and control. They never had a chance." Jenna tried not to look too repulsed, but she could imagine that with all his abilities, it would have been like shooting fish in a barrel. "But as to why I did it, why I joined in the first place, I didn't have to. After I escaped from Maria's, I went to Europe where the slave system didn't exist and I might have stayed there, but I came back because quite honestly it didn't offer the hunting ground I needed." He glanced up at her to drive home his point. "I signed up to end the war to allow myself more prey to hunt."

Jenna's face contorted in a mix of confusion, anger, and disgust as she tried to make sense of such ruthless motivation. "But…" she stammered, trying desperately to reconcile his account with her own experience of him as a loving, if a little affectionately cool man.

"It's who I am, Jenna." He shrugged lightly. "I kill other specials and take their powers. It's a drive, an imperative, a necessity that can't be ignored or forgotten for your convenience."

"But, I…I don't understand." She stated, clearly in shock at the depth of his heartlessness.

He gently put the watch down and sighed heavily. "It's not for you to understand. The sooner you let go of your misguided notion of who you think I am, or perhaps who you want me to be and realize that I am in fact a terrible person, the better."

"Even so…" she doggedly protested, refusing to believe he was Lucifer himself, "you have never hurt me, you protected me. That's not what an awful person does. They don't hurt those close to them."

"No?" He asked raising his eyebrow. "Ask Claire what she thinks of your theory."

"Claire?" She asked confused. Slowly, her face reflected the sickness she felt. "Your ability to heal…"

He gave her a sardonic, congratulatory smile for putting two and two together. She may not have inherited his IA, but she was fairly intelligent in her own right. He just hoped she was smart enough to do what was good for her. "Remember you once asked me if I had a mother and if I ever had a girlfriend?" He shook his head with a deadly look in his eye to underscore the unspoken implication.

Her face was pale and she trembled ever so slightly as her conception of him went up in flame. "Would you kill me?" She choked out in a whisper.

He would never harm her if it was the last thing he ever did. He wasn't entirely kidding when he told Peter he would consider killing himself first, but even though it broke his heart and he fought to hold back the tears to think that it might be the last moment he ever spoke with his child, he forced himself to glare at her stonily, mustering all of Sylar's murderous intensity that he could manage in one final effort to make her hate him. If he was honest, he wasn't just trying to protect her, he was trying to protect himself as well. During Noah's funeral, all he could think of was Jenna laying in the casket and he just couldn't bear it. If they parted ways now, she could have plenty of time to forget him and he could hope that the intervening years would make the sting of knowing she was gone less bitter if he didn't have to actually witness the finality of it.

She held his stare and her eyes blazed with indignation. "Would you kill your grandchild too?" He actually flinched and did a double take just to make sure she wasn't trying to win by technicality. He was absolutely thrown for a loop and he looked to her utterly in shock. Tears fell from her large, brown eyes and her voice trembled. "I came tonight to tell you that I was pregnant. I hoped it would happy news and under better circumstances, but I guess not."

It was his turn to be speechless as he tried to think of something to say. Was he happy? He wasn't sure, but the idea of his baby having a baby was a little surreal. "What are you…I mean…who…" he muttered incoherently, trying to articulate several thoughts at once and failing to complete even one. It was shock and awe on a grand scale as if it were day one and she was on his doorstep again.

"Does it matter?" She lamented, hanging her head in her hands. "I'm sorry I inconvenienced you and your entire life."

He drew in a deep breath and considered his options. He could stay the course and push her away, or he could give into the softer side of himself that was kicking him in the ass to stop sitting there like a jackass and go soothe his distressed daughter. In the end, the softer side won because try as he might, he just wasn't strong enough to turn his back on her even if it did mean a lot more suffering for him down the road. He quietly sat next to her on the couch, not really certain that she would want him there after all he told her, but he had to at least give her the choice of accepting or rejecting his effort to console her. "You were never an inconvenience." He assured her in a soft tone. "In fact, it was quite the opposite." He gingerly snaked his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his body after she made no attempt to squirm away. "Jenna, this drive I have is like an addiction and like any addict, I can only fight it for so long on my own. In the past I was only able to go short periods of time before I couldn't control it anymore. Each ability I get is like a hit, it's very potent and it's something I crave the way your body screams for air if you hold your breath under water for too long."

She lifted her swollen eyes to him and they were filled with a sadness he had never quite seen. "I didn't know that's what it was like for you." She suddenly had perspective and context that made sense of what he told her. "You don't do those things because you want to, you do it because you have to."

His eyes grew dark with self-loathing and he swallowed hard. "It doesn't excuse it or make it any more forgivable. It's still murder, Jenna."

"It is." She quietly granted, but at least it gave her some peace of mind to know that while her father was responsible for the deaths of many, he was in his own way deeply remorseful. As long as he was still capable of sorrow and guilt, he would never be an entirely evil person in her eyes. "But even though you told me these things, I still love you. Nothing will ever change that."

She wrapped her arms around his chest and gave him a sustained, firm embrace that was a clear indication of her unshakeable love for him. It was simply incomprehensible to him that she wouldn't have run screaming and cursing his name, but she didn't and something inside of him ached. She was about the same age he was when he discovered he was special. All he wanted was to be something in someone's eyes, he wanted to feel that very moment- to be wholly, entirely, and unconditionally loved. Somehow Jenna, like Maria, could see past the killer in him and he felt the beast go dormant once more. It wouldn't last forever, but as long as she needed him, he would swallow his fear and anxiety over the future pain and loss that awaited him. He had forever to mourn her, it made no sense to start while she was alive.


	17. White Wedding

**Chapter 17- White Wedding**

_Age: 34_

Jenna couldn't pretend that since her father had more or less finally come clean with her that everything had resumed a sense of familiar normalcy, but he did seem to be making a concerted effort to keep his darker tendencies in check. There were still occasions when she would draw his ire by being excessively moody or outright hostile, but he largely chalked it up to unbalanced hormones and bore it as well as he thought he should without not at least holding her responsible for what he believed she could minimally control.

She was grateful for his patience and she tried not to rely too much on him for late night food runs or moral support during nonstop doctor's visits. She told him he didn't have to go with her to every check-up because even though she didn't entirely understand it, he seemed to have a deep and abiding distaste for doctors in general and hospitals in particular. But he always patiently waited for her in the lobby of her OBGYN office, quietly perusing old mangled copies of magazines he clearly had no interest in and trying to appear nonchalant while patients and nurses alike fawned over him and whispered to one another about what a devoted father he was and how they wished their significant others were as committed as he was. He heard them from behind months old articles on parenting and ads for the latest baby gadgets, secretly amused that they had no idea that they were an entire generation off as to his paternity. Even though it was a little disturbing, he developed something of a sense of humor about the whole thing because whenever they were out together, it only seemed logical that he was the cause of her swollen belly because they were so close in apparent age. At first he was horrified, but karma was a strange thing. Just as when Jenna took the opportunity to insult him when everyone thought he was her brother, he took the opportunity to lecture her about her diet and getting enough rest and vitamins as a concerned partner to the smiling approval of anyone within earshot. She glared at him viciously, but he returned a saccharinely sweet if not outright sarcastic smile.

He took his job seriously enough to leave Manhattan and move to his old neighborhood in Brooklyn to be closer to her. While he enjoyed the panache of a midtown address, the only reason he lived in the ultra-expensive borough was to be close to Jenna's school. He found the blue-collar vibe of Brooklyn to be comfortable and familiar. Eerily enough, his new digs were only a few blocks away from his old watch shop, which was now a Jamaican specialty food store. He may have been at least a little overbearing at times, but he was always technically right and the plain fact was she needed him. As independent as he raised her to be, the demands of her work and the many needs of a baby were no match for her resilience. She simply couldn't do it alone. The real father of the baby had fled the moment she told him. The relationship wasn't too serious to begin with, but she never thought he would be so remiss in his duty as to drop off the face of the earth. She was scared too, but she had nowhere to run other than her own father. She felt guilty asking him for any help. Only recently did she realize how infinitely hard it must have been for him to care for her when there was an overwhelming list of details to attend to, never mind his own internal struggle against his ability. It was a testament to his strength and courage that she never knew anything was ever wrong growing up. He somehow created a perfect life for her despite the circumstances and she wasn't sure she could do the same for her own child. Every time she told him of her deepest fears, he broke out into the most beautifully knowing smile and his eyes would soften with recollection of his own trepidation, but he calmly assured her that if he could do it, she certainly could. He didn't mind helping her, he told her, because if it weren't for Peter she might not have fared so well as an infant in his care, so he understood the need for a second set of hands.

And it was Peter, in fact, that sat with him the night he got a call from the hospital that Jenna was in labor. He was exhausted, having just come off a double shift, but he wouldn't have missed it for the world. Jenna was more or less his daughter as well as he had come to see it. He was there from her very beginning, at almost every soccer game, for long late night chats about some existential crisis in her life that she just knew her dad wouldn't understand, and for the times when she needed the kind of comfort that Gabriel just simply couldn't provide no matter how much he may have wanted to. He and Emma chose not to have children, but a part of him always wanted a son or daughter of his own and Jenna was the next best thing. There was no way he was going to miss this moment of her life. Gabriel sat slumped in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, his long legs stretching out dangerously into the middle of the hall, wearing a tense and worried expression. Peter assured him that with modern medical intervention, Jenna was being well cared for and the staff was ready to deal with anything that came up quickly, but every time the door to the ward would open and the banshee like screaming of some poor woman trying to push the equivalent of a bowling ball out of her pelvis echoed off the tiled walls, it made him grimace. Peter ventured a peek into his mind and it only made him sad to realize that he wasn't so much worried for Jenna's sake as the pained screaming combined with the sterile smell of the hospital and the comings and goings of those wearing white lab coats were dredging up very unpleasant memories for him. It was all he could do to remain in his seat and resist the strong urge to fight or flee, but when the nurse came into the hall with an excited smile on her face and beckoned him to follow, Gabriel looked over nervously at Peter.

"Go on man," he smiled grandly, "go see the baby. I know you want to." He wanted to say 'grandbaby' but he realized that the nurse wouldn't get it.

"Aren't you going?" He asked a little apprehensively. He couldn't imagine Peter would have sat there for the many mind numbing hours he did and not see what he came for.

"Nah, go on. I'll see it in the nursery. Tell Jenna I said hi." He instructed as he stood to stretch his tired muscles.

For as much blood and gore as Gabriel had seen and been a part of in his life, he wasn't really prepared for what he witnessed when the nurse led him into the delivery room. Jenna looked as though she were about to expire, her dark hair clung to her face and she was as pale as he'd ever seen her, but the staff didn't seem to think anything of it. It wasn't that the biological unpleasantness of bringing another life into the world was excessive, but it was all the more horrific because it was his daughter that had been at the center of it all. But the center of her attention was on the tiny bundle wrapped in a white blanket. At the very top of what looked like a baby burrito rested a soft blue fleece cap and he grinned. She smiled almost deliriously at him when he approached her and she urged him to take the baby. He was a little uncertain because he had never held a newborn that small, but she insisted. He ever so slowly and carefully picked him up and cradled the tiny being close to his body, using just a small amount of telekinetic force just to be certain the poor thing didn't somehow tumble out of his arms. He studied the red, wrinkled face and the stubby little fingers that poked out from the blanket with curiosity because he couldn't discern any features that were familiar, but he suspended all judgment until he was a bit older and more stable features began to form. Still, it was a moment he wouldn't forget and he was ever so grateful that she chose not to name him Gabriel as she teased him she would, at least as a first name anyway. Ethan Gabriel Carter would go home a few days later.

Just as Jenna did for him, he stayed with her while she recovered to cook and clean for her. The assignment wasn't limited to domestic help as he soon found himself playing nanny as well while Jenna ran errands or went to work. Although Gabriel was practiced at most aspects of childcare, he soon realized that there was a gulf of difference between boys and girls that surpassed that of simple anatomy and he lost a few good shirts to the cause. Still, there was no denying that he had an easier time of it than he did with Jenna and it had little to do with it being his second time around. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but there was just something much more familiar and natural to him about interacting with a boy. There just seemed to be a mutual understanding between the two of them, an innate guy code if you will that made their time together run smoothly and efficiently. Ethan was nothing like his mother in that he was far less demanding and much quieter. When she was a baby, everything had to be her way and if it wasn't to her liking, she didn't hesitate to sound the alarm loudly and for a sustained period. Ethan had a much more patience, he generally wasn't easily upset by small things, and he didn't require constant attention. He enjoyed being held, but he didn't demand it the way Jenna used to. On the few occasions he did cry either because he was sick or very hungry, he was easily soothed and Jenna marveled at the connection he seemed to have with his grandpa. If she couldn't get him to settle down, one phone call later and help was on the way. She laughed and shook her head as he slowly spun and danced around the room, speaking in quiet, soothing tones until Ethan was fast asleep on his shoulder, problems long forgotten.

The early months were especially fun for Gabriel and he could spend hours laying on his stomach, ankles crossed and legs gently swinging as he stacked multicolored blocks to encourage Ethan to do the same. "It's amazing I didn't become a rocket scientist." Jenna chuckled as watched from her desk.

"I tried." He gently teased, restacking the blocks in a different configuration as Ethan observed inquisitively as though it were a magic trick. "But this little guy might."

"He'll be a librarian." She decided. "If he has your love of books, it will be a perfect occupation for him."

Gabriel frowned while Ethan banged one red block on top of another, not realizing that he had to let it go for it to stay where he put it. He didn't make too much of it because it was still early in his cognitive and motor development. "A little boring, but perhaps we can start now by buying him some thick framed glasses and a nice argyle sweater vest."

Her mood shifted somewhat while she watched her father play with her child. It was obvious that he loved him on some level, but his future involvement was uncertain, especially since she had recently met a wonderful man that loved Ethan as much as he did her. Carlos had never met Gabriel and as far as he knew, she hadn't had contact with her father since high school, which wasn't entirely a lie. That was when he officially stopped being socially recognized as such. But although Carlos didn't know him, Gabriel was aware of his daughter's future husband by virtue of what some may call spying, although he was just another face in the crowd at the park where he watched Carlos play with Ethan or at his weekend job as a little league coach. By all accounts he seemed to be a good man, one that Gabriel would have wanted for her although he never really talked about him. As a result of her new relationship, he didn't see much of her or his grandchild except to become "the babysitter" a few nights a week and default daycare. "So, Dad, about the wedding," she tentatively began, "I was just wondering if there was any way you could maybe, be a bit more involved?" She couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice at him not being able to walk her down the aisle.

He gave a small sigh as he levitated a yellow block onto a tower of others. Ethan didn't seem to realize that one should be touching objects to move them, so to him there was nothing to be surprised over. "You know I can't." While he never did understand the pejorative custom of 'giving' his daughter away as though she were a piece of property, it was more than that. The further out time extended, the further he had to remove himself from Jenna's life as a matter of practicality. He could be the unseen babysitter until Ethan was about 7 or so, but he couldn't be anyone that Carlos would see more than a few times in his life even under the pretense of being a family friend or neighbor. "It's risky enough for me to be in the crowd because there will inevitably be others that knew me also in attendance."

"Are you at least going to sit with Peter and Claire?" She inquired, a little distressed. She hadn't actually invited them yet, but it just went without saying that they would come.

"I can't promise you anything." He replied solemnly. "I'll have to see who else is there."

"I don't understand why you let the fact that you don't age rule your life!" She sighed in desperation. She was tired of being hurt by his ever present need for secrecy. "You never had pictures in the house growing up, and you would only let me take one of you holding Ethan at the hospital if your face wasn't in it. You aren't the only person in the world that can regenerate and it's no secret that some people can. Peter and Claire don't let it ruin their lives."

He could feel the irritation in him rise, but he took deep breaths to keep it under control as best he could. It did seem a little selfish of him, but she was being equally self-centered over something he deemed so ultimately inconsequential. He wasn't going to be front and center, but he was going to be there. He felt it a fair compromise considering the risk. "It isn't that I can regenerate." He ground out between nearly clenched teeth to spell it out for her. "It's because of who I am. If I were just some beer swilling, time clock punching Joe from Brooklyn no one would care that I never aged. But if the world suddenly knew that Sylar wasn't dead, it would have very grave consequences for a great many more people than just you." He hadn't openly referred to himself as Sylar in front of Jenna or anyone else for that matter ever, even though he felt it crawling just under his skin. Ethan seemed to pick up on his grandpa's dour mood and his face scrunched up slightly, waiting for good reason to actually break out into tears. Gabriel forced himself to give him a playful smile while he used his ability to gently lift and rotate several of the blocks in a surreal mobile, which seemed to placate him somewhat.

"Aren't you afraid he'll remember that?" She asked intrigued. She knew how guarded he was about using his abilities.

"No, concrete memory doesn't begin to form until 4 or 5." He informed her. "Until then, memories are more like emotional or instinctual impressions. People, items, and situations are simply recalled for being good or bad."

She wasn't surprised that he would have that kind of technical knowledge. He probably knew how many neurons a baby's brain had and a host of other obscure facts as well. "Did you do that for me?"

"Oh yeah," he chuckled at his own admission of cheating, "you used to love it, but perhaps a little too much. You would watch with wide eyes until I put them down and then you cried until I did it again. It's a good thing I don't have to pay strict attention to use my ability. I could dangle your blocks or stuffed animals while I cleaned or paid bills."

"I don't remember you ever using any of your powers until I threw my history book at you."

He scoffed at the memory of the look of total shock and loathing in her eyes as he held her book in midair. "I did, but I only did so while you were too young to recall it or I was more careful to mask it when you got older."

"What about Ethan?" She asked sadly. He turned slightly to look suspiciously at her. He sincerely hoped that she wasn't about to ask him if he would kill him should he develop an ability. "I mean, will he get the chance to know his grandfather as he grows up?"

Gabriel's eyes filled to the brim with sorrow as he turned back to the boy who was furiously trying to get his attention by randomly waving a block in every direction his little arm would swing. "Until he's old enough to form memories of me." He whispered. "After that, no." Of course he wanted to be a part of his life because he believed he could be the father figure he never had, but Ethan would have Carlos for that. He would be fine without him.

Jenna was irate. "I won't let you do this to him. If you want to ignore me and play games with me, that's fine, I can take it. But he has a right to know where he comes from and you can't stop me from telling him…"

Gabriel rolled over and jumped to his feet in a flash, the cold, dark stare permeating his eyes. "That his father abandoned him? Perhaps you should reconsider your priorities before you accuse me of being thoughtless. Telling him his grandfather is dead will not be nearly as traumatic for him as the guilt he will carry always wondering why he wasn't good enough for his own father to stay, to love him, to guide him. And don't think that you can somehow make up for his loss by loving him more because it just doesn't work that way."

She seemed sickened by his projections. "We have decided to tell him that Carlos is his father until he's old enough to understand."

"Except he never will." He sneered. "He might believe it until he looks into a mirror, but even if he doesn't, there is no age at which he will understand that his biological father did not want him. And what happens when Carlos walks out or dies?"

Jenna held his stare and coolly asked, "Are you speaking from experience?" He always had been pessimistic about being close to others, but the true nature of his phobia was only starting to make sense.

The fire in Gabriel's eyes nearly consumed him as he stood there in a silent rage, both at her and himself for being so transparent. She was bound and determined to make the same mistakes that helped make him into what he was and he felt sorry for Ethan. "Don't do this, Jenna." He warned her in a low voice. "This isn't some game or experiment."

"No, it is a game." She hissed spitefully. "It always has been with you, but you know what? I'm sick of playing, Dad. I quit. You win. Now get out."

"Jenna…" He could feel the same sense of hopelessness creep over him as he did the day she threw her book at him and he knew he was losing her. He had to try and reason with her, to deescalate the situation before another rift tore them apart…

"Get out!" She yelled, pointing at the door while Ethan began wailing.

Just as when she was a child, everything had to be on her terms and he knew there was no more to be said. All he could do was grant her request and hope that she would come around and give him the consideration he was due, but that day didn't come as quickly as either would have hoped. He, in fact, didn't talk to her for the next year. He whiled away the time tinkering with watches or traveling, but he kept glancing at his phone, looking for a missed call, text message, or email, believing that at some point she would come to her senses and realize that he was only trying to help her prevent some very serious mistakes.

Claire glanced around the neatly placed white chairs on the courtyard lawn of the massive cathedral, shielding her eyes against the bright midday sun. The middle isle was demarcated by softly billowing stands of white ribbon tied to each chair in an elegant bow and at the end stood the priest, decked out in black, holding his prayer book reverently in his clasped hands. "Where's Gabriel?" She asked, frowning when she didn't spot him either among those gathered or in the empty chair next to her where he was meant to be. It wasn't like him to be late to anything.

Peter shifted in the uncomfortably hot sun, regretting his choice of a black suit. He looked to the surrounding walls of carved columns and wished he was in the cool shade. All in all, it reminded him vaguely of the art museum he went to with Gabriel. "I don't know." He admitted , squinting at his niece. "He'll be here. He wouldn't miss this no matter what." Jenna told him about the blow-up and she stubbornly hoped he would just appear as he always did to forgive her, but he didn't. Gabriel's patience appeared to go both ways.

He stood up along with everyone else when the music swelled and Jenna walked down the isle, smiling bravely although her hands were trembling slightly. She glanced at the empty chair next to Claire and fought back the tears of bitter disappointment. She couldn't believe he didn't come. He didn't RSVP or even reject it by scrawling 'return to sender' on it in his neat, slightly slanted handwriting. The only thing she received from him was stubborn silence and while she couldn't believe that he would let such a silly thing come between them, she couldn't help but feel at least a little guilty for nearly crucifying him in the first place. She was doing what she thought was right even if he didn't agree. She tried to push it out of her mind for the biggest moment of her life, but it gnawed at her even as the priest said the magic words of "I now pronounce you man and wife."

Gabriel watched from behind one of the cool, carved stone pillars. Dressed in his finest so he wouldn't stick out like a wedding crasher, he remained in the shadows to avoid all those that might recognize him just as he did at her graduation, but he wouldn't have missed it for the world. He watched Carlos softly kiss his daughter and he prayed for his sake that he would treat her with the respect and devotion that she deserved, because he could no longer provide it for her- not in the way she needed him to. She was so beautiful in her white dress, and although he had a longstanding skepticism of official and legal relationships, he couldn't have been happier for her. Perhaps now she could go on without him. He would always still watch her and support her, but it would be behind the scenes. Even though it broke his heart, he knew it could be no other way and he bowed his head that he would be so sad on this happiest of days.


	18. Truce

**Chapter 18- Truce**

_Age: 38_

Peter lightly drummed his fingers on Gabriel's counter while he patiently waited for the chef to finish his masterwork of culinary art, or as he liked to think of it, dinner. He glanced around while Gabriel labored over a sizzling skillet, the aromas of searing meat and herbed vegetables making his stomach growl with anticipation. His new apartment wasn't nearly as posh as the one he used to live in, but it was still fairly large by the city's standards and although the outside of the converted warehouse looked a little shabby, the interior had been completely redone with new hardwood floors and fixtures. The bare brick walls and exposed ductwork somehow just suited Gabriel's minimalist personality and at the very least, he had a jaw dropping view of Manhattan across the river through the massive floor to ceiling windows that he chose to leave bare. But even though the space had potential, it was sorely lacking in some way as if it wasn't really a home. The only personal effects Gabriel had displayed was his massive and still growing collection of books. There were no pictures, no art, no knickknacks of any kind other than things that could be considered strictly utilitarian and even then they were not usually just laying about. But he understood why.

"Gabe," Ethan gently tugged on the cook's pant leg as he stared up at him with his wide hazel eyes, "I'm hungry." Gabe was his favorite babysitter in the whole world because he always smiled and played with him and he always did fun things with him.

Gabriel smiled down at the young boy as he dashed in a little more olive oil. "I know, buddy. We'll eat soon. Would you like a snack?" Ethan nodded yes, but in his usually patient manner it was not in any way demanding in nature. If his caretaker saw fit to see to his need it would be great, but he could wait. Gabriel had no idea how a four year old child that small could have such mastery over his most basic needs, but if anything his lack of insistence made him want to fix the problem more urgently than if he plopped down on the floor screaming and kicking. "Peter, would you mind getting him a piece of cheese or a few grapes?" He requested, reluctant to leave his dish on the stove for fear it would burn on the high heat.

"Sure." He easily agreed, taking Ethan by the hand to lead him to the refrigerator. "Let's see what we have in here. What would you like?" He picked him up and slung him onto his hip so he could get a good view of the offerings to be had. Ethan eagerly pointed to a cup of pudding and Peter realized his mistake. "I think you have to wait until after dinner for that." He frowned.

"The pudding?" Gabriel guessed knowingly. Jenna had a habit of indulging Ethan perhaps a bit too much, but what did he know, he was just the babysitter. "Never give an open-ended option to a young child. Present them only with a limited number of choices that you can actually live with."

"Alright, Dr. Spock." Peter laughed. "I get it." He chose a handful of grapes for him and hoped for the best. "Next time we have a child crisis again, I'll be the one calling you."

"There won't be a next time." He mumbled. "I won't be making that mistake again."

Peter washed the grapes and sat Ethan on the edge of the counter facing him so he could eat his snack without falling off. It was funny how Ethan sort of resembled Gabriel, but it was so subtle that people on the street might not even notice. Yet he could see it clearly in the shape of his eyes and mouth. "If you go into heat, pack your meat." He chuckled. It wasn't so funny then, but it kind of was in retrospect to think that Sylar of all people would make such a stupid mistake and find himself as a grandpa.

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder with a mock scowl, but he couldn't entirely suppress the playful smirk that played on his lips. "Crude, but accurate." He conceded. "It's the only choice we have, really."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever thought about contraception and regens, Peter?" He asked thoughtfully. "The deck is entirely stacked against us. Women have the option of hormones in the form of pills or shots, but their bodies treat it as any other threat and neutralize it. Alternatively, they can have IUD implants, but they would likely be rejected as foreign to their bodies. Any attempt at tubal ligation or complete removal via hysterectomy would just result in a newly grown replacement. Men have similar issues because our only option aside from condoms is vasectomy. Whether it is done by bisection or by clips, the result would be the same. Having the ability to regenerate almost guarantees our eventual propagation."

"So you're saying that it's inevitable." He squinted. He made it sound like such a bad thing…

"Yes, if we're not to be celibate for all eternity and I think I made my views on the priesthood abundantly clear in previous conversations." He smirked. If he doubted the accuracy of organized religions, to remain celibate while doing so seemed doubly tragic.

"Yeah, but you can't say that you regret it." Peter smiled at Ethan warmly. In his eyes, such promise of potential was a beautiful thing. "You wouldn't have had her or this little guy." Although Ethan was still probably too young to understand the nuance of the conversation, he avoided using his mother's name for fear he might easily recognize it and kickstart a firestorm of awkward questions from the inquisitive little boy.

Gabriel gave Ethan a bittersweet smile. Things hadn't exactly turned out as he had envisioned them. While they had made something of a truce, she still didn't entirely understand why he did what he did and for reasons beyond his control, he simply couldn't be the traditional family man she may have wanted. It left them on opposing sides of an impassible chasm, but he never had any fairytale visions of relationships the way she did. He didn't blame her though, because if he put himself in her place he could understand why the distance would feel alienating and why she in her own way always tried to pull them closer together. It was touching that she always longed to know her father better, but he could only do so much to cross the gap and more often than not it fell short.

After his yearlong hiatus, he resumed his babysitting duties when she just appeared at his door one day as seemed to be her habit. He was glad to see her, but he couldn't help but feel guarded, wondering when the fighting would commence. She was a little too much like him in that they were equally stubborn and he could only guess that she was there for some covert purpose. Ethan clutched his mother, whimpering pitifully and she gave Gabriel a sheepish look. "Carlos is out of town." She mumbled with her head down in shame. "I can't get him to quiet down and I'm at my wit's end. I just came by to see if maybe you still had your magic." She could have handled her own child, but it seemed as good excuse as any.

Although the back of his head tingled, he invited her in, took Ethan from her, and set to work. He gently patted his grandson on the back and spoke to him in soft tones, his deep voice creating a gentle vibration while he gently swayed to some rhythm that ticked away in his head. Ethan put up a weak protest, but soon gave into his grandfather's powerfully effective persuasion and drifted off into a peaceful sleep. "Thanks." She whispered a little in awe and irritated that he still held such sway over her son. She still did not entirely comfortable to be in his presence, but she hated feeling like she didn't belong and she didn't want their relationship to be so contentious. "Dad, about what happened..."

He cut her off with a stern shake of his head. "Don't do this." He was just tired of the drama. If she couldn't accept the situation for what it was, he would prefer she never speak to him again. It was like a wound that just didn't heal with each encounter cutting deeper and he just couldn't bleed anymore.

"If you don't want to talk I understand, but could you just give me a few minutes to say what I need to?" He seemed to debate whether or not he would entertain her possible accusations and vitriol, but he reluctantly gave her a minuscule nod while he rubbed Ethan's back as though he was preparing to protect him from his mother's onslaught. Even though he gave her his blessing, she could tell by the tense energy in his muscles that he was preparing for the worst so she tried to keep her voice neutral and chose her words carefully. "I haven't spoken to you in awhile because I was hurt and angry, but I can't go on like that." She would have said 'we' to acknowledge his experience as well, but the plain fact was she didn't know that he was as upset about as she was, if at all. He wasn't the type to wear his heart on his sleeve and roam about openly weeping. "It was just hard not to see you at the wedding."

He relaxed somewhat, but he knew better than to let his guard down entirely. "I was there." He quietly admitted. "Just as I told you I would be."

She looked to him perplexed. "You were? I looked everywhere for you. Peter and Claire said they didn't see you either."

"For better or for worse, I have quite a bit of experience in evasive hiding." It had in fact taken up a good portion of his life between Bennett and the war. "But I witnessed every minute, from the time you walked down the aisle as my daughter to the time you returned as his wife." He smiled gently. "You were beautiful."

"But why didn't you…" she started, before she realized that she was dancing on the same powder keg that led to the first explosion, "…tell me you were coming?" She quickly recovered.

"I did." His eyes fell softly to the floor and his voice was laden with sadness. "It may not be in ways that you expect or it might not be so obvious, but I will always find a way to be with you." With passing time it would only get harder, but Noah was right: his responsibility to her didn't end when she legally became an adult. If anything, she needed him as much as she ever had, but as much as he may have been reluctant to admit it he needed her too.

She approached him and gave him a gentle hug, careful not to entangle her sleeping son. "I missed you, Dad." She sighed into him. "I know why you can't necessarily be around the way you would like, but it just doesn't seem fair sometimes."

"It isn't." He dolefully agreed. "But it's all we have, Jenna. Believe me, I wish things were different too, that I could live a completely normal life. But even as it is with all the limitations, it's still better than the way I used to live." He didn't miss the days of roaming from city to city constantly looking over his shoulder to see if the Company was chasing him or perhaps that he was a bit too careless in collecting powers, or later running for his life from agents with very lethal weapons.

She couldn't imagine that living in almost complete isolation was considered an improvement, but she knew better than to ask him to explain himself. She was just going to have to accept that there were going to be aspects of him that she would never know even if it broke her heart to be kept in the dark. She wanted him to be a very real part of her life. She wanted him to come around, to visit on the holidays, to be with the family as they carved turkey or opened presents, but she knew that it just couldn't be. "Then we will have to make the best of it and take every opportunity we can to see each other."

"Ok," he cautiously agreed, "but there are only so many gallons of milk and loaves of bread you will need to make trips for."

"I was thinking something a little more regular, more believable." She smiled deviously up at him. His eyes darted around the room, sensing a trap. "I appreciate the money you gave me as a wedding present, Dad, but _really_? 3 million dollars? Where did you get that kind of money fixing watches?" He didn't even flinch or make any sort of indication that an explanation was going to be forthcoming, so she pressed on with her proposal. "Fine, whatever. Anyway, I was sending Ethan to a daycare, but I don't know, I just feel…"

"Guilty?" He guessed with a curious expression. He knew he certainly felt that way when he struggled with the notion of sending her to preschool. Luckily, circumstances allowed him to be a full time stay at home dad, but both she and Carlos worked jobs during the day and Ethan couldn't very well look after himself.

"Yeah." She admitted, somewhat embarrassed. "I would just feel a lot better if I knew he was with someone I could trust completely. And…" her voice grew hesitant and she looked to the floor to avoid his gaze, "I know you said you can only be in his life until he starts to remember you, but I would still like for him to have that time with you even if he doesn't remember it when he gets older. I want him to remember you as a good feeling."

He wanted that too, more than anything. Agreeing to care for Ethan allowed him all day to play and teach the young boy and it conveniently gave Jenna an excuse to see her father twice a day. Their days together were filled with simple yet exciting new things like planting a bean and watching a new plant grow, making small volcanoes of baking soda and vinegar, testing the limits of gravity by dropping various objects to see which would land first, learning about magnetism by running around the house touching everything with a magnet to see if it stuck, and splitting ordinary sunlight into a rainbow with a prism. There were towering cities to be built from legos, worlds to explore through finger paint and seemingly never ending imaginative stories, and many rounds of 'head, shoulders, knees and toes.' Some days they worked in the kitchen, learning to follow directions by reading recipes or working on math with measuring cups or counting raisins, and other days they just lounged lazily together on the couch, Ethan in his lap while he read books to him.

Gabriel hated himself for thinking so, but Ethan was the child he always wanted. While his relationship was always at least a little tense and strained with Jenna, he and Ethan clicked from the first day like two long lost puzzle pieces. He enjoyed being the father he always wanted and that was why it made him profoundly sad every time he looked at the quickly growing boy. Soon he would start remembering him, memories that he would be able to carry for the rest of his life and the moment he had evidence of that, he would have to walk away. He might be able to ride it out for a few more years as the babysitter, but the clock was ticking. He watched him make mildly scrunched up faces while he ate the slightly sour grapes and it made him laugh. "Are you liking those?" He asked with a smile.

Ethan indicated he did while he winced and kept chewing, prompting Peter to shake his head. "And the strange thing is, he actually does." Gabriel would have known if he was just saying he did as a means to please him, but Peter actually read his fledgling thoughts and his response was simple but unequivocal.

"He's not really picky the way most kids are." Gabriel observed as he dished up the meal he had been working so hard on, setting a much smaller portion in the refrigerator to cool a bit for Ethan. "He'll try just about anything. That probably came from his mother. She put anything and everything in her mouth." He sighed in a resigned tone. He absolutely wore himself out trying to keep all manner of inedible items from going down the hatch…

"Honey, I'm home." Jenna tiredly called from the door as she made her way in. She looked exhausted. "Sorry I was held up at work. Thanks for working overtime." She gently ribbed him.

"I'll add it to your tab." He mused as he set the plate he had intended for himself in front of her. There wasn't really much left, but he could do without. He would rather see her have a nice hot meal after a hard day's work and it would simply be poor manners to shortchange Peter although he probably wouldn't say anything if he did.

"There's my little poopsikins!" She cooed as she scooped her son off the counter and hugged him tightly after Peter made way. Gabriel mouthed her words and shook his head in utter bewilderment. He never had pet names for her, he felt they were demeaning and at the very least confusing to a developing person still trying to get a grip on the complexity of the English language. He did occasionally call her 'sweetie' or 'sweetheart' but those were real concepts that could be explained. He wished just once Ethan would ask her what a 'poopsikins' was. "What did you and Gabe do today?" If she felt strange calling him Gabriel, Gabe was even more surreal, but Ethan initially struggled to pronounce it and it was the best he could manage, so it stuck.

"I drew a picture for you." He proudly reported while he ran to the living room to retrieve his masterpiece. Gabriel bit his lip and smiled when Ethan returned and handed it to her, beaming with a sense of grand accomplishment.

Jenna tried to maintain her smile as she rotated the paper to try and make sense of it like a Rorschach ink blot. Peter joined her and even he frowned and squinted in an effort to interpret the chaos captured in crayon. "Keep smiling," Gabriel quietly advised her, taking a bite of a speared green bean, "he's watching."

Jenna glanced at her father and bolstered her grin when Ethan seemed a little uncertain of himself when her adoration wasn't as abundant as he perhaps hoped it would be. "Wow!" She exclaimed excitedly as Peter too tried his damndest to look as impressed as if the boy had just invented the wheel. "This is really nice, Ethan! Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mommy." He happily replied as he approached his caretaker. "Gabe, can I eat now?"

"Yes, you may." Gabriel grinned, removing the now sufficiently cooled plate from the refrigerator. "Bon appetite."

"Time to eat!" Ethan eagerly refrained.

"Let me guess where he got that…" Jenna frowned at her father. She remembered well the saying when she was a child.

He gave her a wicked smirk. "At least I haven't bought him a drum set…." his dark eyes twinkled mischievously, "…yet."

"I'll kill you." She vowed with a glare.

"You could try." He all but yawned, entirely unconcerned with her idle threat. "And like so many others before you, you will fail spectacularly."

She gave him an equally cocky look. "I'll just get Peter to help me."

Peter quickly swallowed his food and shook his head vehemently. "I'm not getting all up in that again."

"_Again_?" Jenna asked surprised. "What does that mean?"

Gabriel gave Peter an evil glare for letting the cat out of the bag. "Peter has tried, quite unsuccessfully, to…shall we say…_limit_…my lifespan."

Peter narrowed his eyes at the insinuation. "I never tried to kill you. And let's not forget that you did, shall we say…attempt…to steal my powers- and not by being my friend, either."

Gabriel could see that Jenna was shocked. She had no idea of the history between them. "It was the second time I met him, but you have to understand that the first time we met, he threw me over a 30 foot wall and left me to bleed to death on the concrete."

"That…" Peter hissed blinking furiously, "is not what happened and you know it! Don't pull this again!"

"Pull what?" Gabriel asked innocently, menacingly biting into a chunk of chicken.

"That twisted, bullshit logic. I didn't throw you over that wall, I didn't 'steal' your power, and if you keep telling people that, I swear I will stab you with this fork and make you bleed for real." He promised, pointing the tines of the utensil at his host like a tiny pitchfork.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows and lightly smiled. "Such tendency toward violence, Peter. But you know that even if I allowed you to get close enough, I would only heal."

Peter was only mildly deterred. "And you know that along with the ability to heal comes increased stamina. I can go at it as long as you can." His voice was calmer than before, but it was almost eerily so, and Gabriel got the message loud and clear.

Jenna felt as though she needed to diffuse the situation before they tested their respective theories. "Good thing, because you needed every ounce of it to help me practice. If I were Emma, I would have been a nervous wreck, watching me slice you up like I did. I still feel bad."

Peter gave her a soft smile, his previous ire all but gone. "I told you not to worry about it. I knew things like that were going to happen and so did Emma."

"What happened?" Gabriel asked intrigued. Claire had told him that Jenna cut Peter to shreds, but she didn't elaborate. At that point, he was glad to hear that he suffered at least a little.

"Nothing, really." Peter demurred while he pushed the food around on his plate.

"I think I killed him." Jenna blurted out. "A few times, maybe."

He gave her a patient sigh and reminded her, "You didn't kill me. Obviously." So he had to regrow most of his right arm, manufacture a few femurs, and replace his entire blood volume a few times. The bottom line was it didn't kill him. It made a hell of a mess, but it didn't kill him. And he may have been a bit generous as to Emma's reaction. She walked in after a late shift at work, took one look at what could have been mistaken for the set of a horror film, and promptly turned on her heel and walked out. She didn't come home for hours for fear of the cops showing up.

"How is Emma, anyway?" She gently asked.

Emma had mostly retired from medicine, being nearly 75 years old, but she wasn't ready to give up entirely. She still volunteered a few days a week at a local clinic that was close to where they lived. She stubbornly insisted that she walk there because it gave her good exercise, but her hips and knees ached with arthritis from so many years of standing on hard floors in the ER and although she wouldn't admit it to anyone, her eyesight wasn't what it used to be despite wearing glasses. She had always been fiercely independent her whole life, but she allowed Peter to walk with her because she was well aware that as a slow moving, apparently blind old woman she made a great target. He didn't mind the stares he got while they slowly made their way down the sidewalk arm in arm because he was glad to do it. He didn't realize how much he needed her when he first met her, or just how stubbornly beautiful she was, but as he watched her slowly fade he had a good idea of how much he was going to miss her. "She's, um…" he cleared his throat to keep it from cracking, "she's not doing so well, actually."

Any prior animosity Gabriel might have felt at being challenged in his own home quickly faded. "Why do you say that?" It was a bit redundant, because anyone with one eye and half a brain could tell that her mind was slipping. She didn't even recognize him the last time he saw her. She thought he was the paperboy.

"Well, she's had this nagging cough for a couple of months now," he explained miserably, "and she doesn't get out of bed much. She tells me she's fine, but I know better." He shook his head sadly at her tenacity. "She forgets that I have medical training too." She seemed to forget a lot of things, such as her not having a medical license anymore. She did volunteer at the clinic, but she did so as a patient companion, not a medical provider and she hadn't even done that in several weeks.

Jenna tenderly placed her hand on Peter's arm to convey her sorrow at his pain. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like to watch her soul mate steadily age and wither away while she remained frozen in time. "Tell her I said hello." She requested, choosing to try and remain positive rather than give into the hopelessness she felt. Emma was like her surrogate mother and it saddened her to watch her slowly deteriorate because that wasn't the woman she remembered growing up. The woman she recalled was strong, beautiful, smart, and kind. No matter what happened, that was the way she was determined to remember her.

"I will." Peter promised with a sad smile. "If you don't mind, Gabriel, I think I'll take the rest of this food to her. I think she'll enjoy it. She always did like your cooking."

"Yeah," Gabriel nodded, feeling helpless to do anything else to rectify the pervasive gloom that settled between them all, "I think I have a container you can take with you." It wasn't Peter's fault that he was the first of the trio of immortals to witness firsthand the devastating effects of immortality. Claire had lost her fathers, but that was to be expected, it was the natural order of things for children to bury their parents. But it was not the order of things to bury a lover as your elder, and all Gabriel could do was watch and try to learn as much as he could from the process for when his turn came with the hope of being able to somehow cope or bear what he was sure would feel like total annihilation of the soul.


	19. The White Knight Rides Again

**Chapter 19- The White Knight Rides Again**

_Age: 43_

Once more, Gabriel found himself staring at the carpeted floor of a funeral home while people around him quietly wept for the departed, solemnly pondering if taking Claire's regenerative ability was really such a wise move on his part after all. He just didn't know how many more funerals he could attend and keep his sanity. So much of his life recently revolved around death as all those he knew grew older and succumbed to one disease, disaster, or demise after another. It was bound to happen as the original gang of heroes were entering their twilight years and one by one going gently into that good night. Matt was done in by a heart attack, Mohinder by a stroke incurred after he fell and hit his head. Living alone, no one knew of his predicament until it was too late. The coroner guessed he laid there for a few days before a neighbor investigating strange smells coming from his apartment found his body. Luke died of an accidental gunshot wound sustained while on a hunting trip in Wyoming. Word had it that he wasn't wearing a bright orange safety vest at the time to alert other hunters to the fact he was not a deer. Hiro, in his advanced age, decided that he no longer wished to be a burden to his family and did what he considered honorable by removing himself from the equation according to his cultural custom. Gabriel had to admire him for having the courage to follow through on his convictions- and succeeding- unlike him, although he found himself several times wishing he could die hemmed up as he was between the window and his obese seatmate on the 12 hour flight from New York to Tokyo. It was as if even in death, the pesky time traveler found a way to get one last karmic shot in on his nemesis.

Of the original band of brothers, only West and Damian remained and Gabriel wondered what would become of them in time. Moreover, he wondered what would have become of him had nature been allowed to take its course. He would have been in his early 80's. Not an impossibly long lifespan, but given his prior history of mishap and misdeeds, it was a statistical improbability that he would have survived that long. The simple fact was, he should have been laying 6 feet under somewhere between HRG, the mortal stab wound Hiro inflicted at Kirby Plaza, or the end result of the Shanti virus destroying him from the inside out. While an exact cause of death was hard to pinpoint of the many opportunities and pot shots that many took, he estimated that his tombstone would have put his age at somewhere between 33 and 35 for anyone who cared to look down and read it. Although he knew that Sylar, if even afforded a proper burial, would have been relegated to some forgotten corner of a rundown cemetery without the expectation of a single soul to mourn him. Maybe it was what he deserved.

A few rows up, Peter clenched his jaw and stared at the casket that held his soul mate of almost 50 years as the minister read his sermon in a monotone voice. Tears fell in a steady stream from his swollen eyes, but he didn't even try to hold them back. He was devastated and he didn't care who knew it even if those around him felt that the old woman's private nurse was taking her passing a bit too personally. As he looked at her face, smeared with thick makeup to disguise the signs of death, he couldn't help but think that even in her old age she was beautiful- gray hair, wrinkles and all.

He remembered how he felt the first time he met her in her owner's kitchen and how the butterflies in his stomach made him feel dizzy with wonder at the sight of her. They had met under intense and dire circumstances in a world that despised them, but they always had each other and together they fought not only to end the war but to make the world a better place afterwards. They complimented one another in so many ways: she tried her best to temper his drive to save the world while still supporting the idea that it was a place that could and should be saved, and he quietly picked up the slack in the few areas that her disability made harrowing without ever making her feel inferior. They shared common goals and interests from the first day until the last and while he never took a single moment of their time together for granted, he couldn't help but feel it was too short and he desperately wanted more. Just one more kiss, one more smile, one more minute just to look at her beautiful face. His heart ached and he lowered his head, shoulders shaking with each wave of quiet sobs.

Gabriel watched him with a helpless sense of misery as Claire wrapped a supportive arm around her uncle's waist to pull him into a comforting embrace. They were all becoming too practiced at this sort of thing and to think that they had an eternity to continually repeat the morbid cycle left Gabriel feeling sick with depression. Next to him, Jenna dabbed at her eyes to stem the tide of her own tears for the loss of the woman who guided her through the transition into womanhood and who acted as the mother she never had. Gabriel placed his arm around her shoulders in an act of silent commiseration because in the end Emma meant a great deal to him as well even if he never outright told her so. It was she who cared for him and tried to comfort him while he suffered through the intolerable sickness and side effects of multiple doses of serum to restore his powers. She also had enough faith in him to go against the very credo of her profession of doing no harm by taking him at his word that his secret plan would somehow work out and played a key role in pulling off the ultimate deception at his execution. Without her, he couldn't have had the life he did for all those years, such as it was.

Ethan glanced at his mother with eyes that were surprisingly perceptive for an eight year old. He didn't know the woman in the casket, but he knew that she was important to his mother. It was the first time he had ever seen a dead body and the entire experience left him a little frightened, but his mother was obviously in no condition to put it into perspective for him. He took his cue from Gabe and tried to be brave for her because he didn't want to make her any sadder. He was a quiet and very precocious child who had a deep sense of curiosity that Gabe seemed to intuitively understand, and although he had a vague conception of what death was, there were many unanswered questions that he would save to ask him later. He could ask Gabe just about anything and he never made him feel weird the way others did.

He loved his father, but as nice as he was, he couldn't help but feel as though something was wrong, like he didn't really fit in. He never felt that way with Gabe and he looked forward to spending the few hours a day he did after school with him if he didn't have baseball practice, telling him what he learned that day. Sometimes if he needed help with his homework, they would sit at the table and Gabe would have a way of explaining things that just made sense. He even taught him how to look for answers on a computer and in books if he needed help when he wasn't around. Things would have been just perfect were it not for the fact that his mom told him that Gabe was moving away. He cried and Gabe looked sad too, but he told him that he would always think of him wherever he went. He was happy to see his old babysitter again, but he didn't realize at first that it was not a happy time for everyone, so he pretended to be sad too but deep down he thought he could be happy as long as he didn't show it.

At the graveside service, Gabriel volunteered to hang back under the pretense of watching Ethan so as not to further traumatize him by watching Emma lowered into the ground, but Jenna got the feeling that there was more to it than that. Still, she didn't argue and in fact was grateful that she could concentrate on offering support to Peter without worrying about what her young son thought of the whole affair if he was far enough back not to be able to really see what went on. "Gabe," Ethan softly called as he looked to him eagerly, "why were we all watching the lady sleep?"

Gabriel gently smiled because to such a young mind, sleep was the closest practical experience he had to what he witnessed. While normally he would have given half truths or even danced around the question, he felt that Ethan was intelligent enough to make sense of reality if it was well explained. "She wasn't sleeping, really." He began. "Sometimes people die and when they die, it means they don't do things like sleep or eat. It looks like sleep, but it's much more than that. They don't hear or smell or anything anymore. Their bodies stop working."

Ethan seemed to ponder it before asking, "Why did her body stop working?" When things became broken, they could usually be fixed and he didn't understand why a person's body would be any different.

"It can happen for a lot of reasons, but sometimes people get too sick or hurt too badly for doctors to help them. Sometimes a person lives a long time and their bodies get tired."

"Will you live a long time?" He asked curiously.

Gabriel chuckled at the inquisitive boy's question. It reminded him of Jenna's curiosity of Stephanie's whereabouts. "I think so." _A very, very long time…._

"Good, because I don't want you to get tired." Seemingly satisfied with the lesson, Ethan moved on to other topics of interest. "Guess what? I got first prize in the science fair!" He proudly announced.

"Oh yeah?" He asked, sounding impressed although the kid was a natural at the subject. "What did you do for a project?"

"Remember the trick you showed me?" He asked excitedly. "Remember we made the lava lamp out of a soda bottle, water, and oil?"

"Yeah, you wanted a blue one and mine was red." He nodded, smiling at the memory and the look of wonder on the boy's face as the Alka Seltzer fizzed and made the colored oil slowly undulate.

"Mommy helped me make a new one, but she didn't know how at first so we looked it up together on the computer just like you showed me." He was almost giddy with excitement as he relayed the experience. "I took it to school and I had to tell the class how it worked. Mr. Wright said I did a good job and he gave me first place."

While he initially was ecstatic, his face clouded over and he lowered his head. Gabriel noticed and quietly asked, "What happened then?"

"A girl in my class got mad at me because she didn't win. I was walking home and she knocked it out of my hands and I got it all over my clothes. Mom was real mad at me because she said they were ruined and my hands were blue for a few days. It just wouldn't wash off."

Gabriel squatted down in front of the disenheartened young scientist with a supportive, yet commiserative smile. "Science is fun, but it can be messy sometimes too and you should be proud that you won. That little girl was just upset that she wasn't as smart as you. It used to happen to me all the time, but it's something you have to get used to. People won't always appreciate you for what you can do."

Ethan lifted his sad eyes to his hero and asked, "What did you do?"

"Me?" _Kill them, usually._ "I learned that I had to be happy with who I was and not worry about what everyone else thought of me." In truth it was a lesson he was still learning because not caring entirely was what made it so easy to indulge his compulsion. If he truly didn't give a rat's ass about his victims or the lives he ruined, it made it just that much easier to cross another name off his list and go off in search for another. "The trick is figuring out who really loves you and will be your friend whether you win or lose. Those are the people you should care about because they will always be there to help you when you need it." He glanced at the throng of black clad gatherers and spotted Peter and Claire, her blonde hair a spray of sunshine among the darkness.

He seemed to understand, but he was still upset. "But you went away to a new house. I don't see you anymore when I need help. Daddy helps me, but not as good as you."

Gabriel tried not to let the sharp stab of pain he felt show in his face at the boy feeling as though he had abandoned him. He hadn't gone anywhere, he still lived in the same apartment so he could keep a close eye on Jenna and him. He was at his little league games and watched him play in the park or visit the zoo and see his favorite animal, the giraffe. Jenna always told him so he could be present at the family outing even if he hung back several feet away and was just another face in the crowd. It also saddened him that Jenna followed through on her plan to tell Ethan that Carlos was his father because it just set him up for further feelings of loss down the road, but he couldn't do anything about that. What he could do was try to offer some semblance of reassurance to his grandson. "I didn't want to go away," he honestly confessed, "but I had to and just like I promised, I think about you every day. Do you believe me?"

Ethan miserably nodded and stretched to give his former babysitter a hug. "I miss you, Gabe."

Gabriel closed his eyes and gently returned the embrace. "I miss you too, buddy." He always thought that he had reached the depth of his devotion with Jenna and that he wouldn't feel quite so attached to anything ever again, but he was wrong. Time did nothing to dilute his need to matter to someone, to do something of such importance as to protect and guide his own flesh and blood at any cost, and to dull the piercing pain that came from knowing he couldn't.

Letting the boy go felt like letting go of a part of himself, but he had to trust that Carlos was a good man who could at the very least be there to offer him the male presence that he never had the benefit of. Gabriel longed to be the one to teach Ethan all the things that go along with being a man- things he had to learn on his own the hard way: how to shave without cutting himself to shreds, how to be a gentleman and take rejection from the very girls he held open doors for, or how to use his innate intelligence to be resourceful and resilient because most of his peers would not be able to relate. He was certain he could handle 'the talk' far better than he did with Jenna because he had firsthand knowledge of what the physical and mental transition from boy to man felt like- the social ineptitude, the clumsiness of a new body, and surges of testosterone that suddenly made him almost involuntarily fixate on girls to the exclusion of everything else.

And there was, of course, the matter of figuring out masturbation and he wondered how Jenna was going to handle it when he figured out that his body was suddenly like a private amusement park. He imagined it to be something like the time he accidently walked in on her in her dorm room, but he hoped she would handle it with the tact and grace that he attempted to. It was never a comfortable proposition to finally realize that your child is a sexual being, but such things were inevitable and it was his belief that action shouldn't be shamed, only redirected when appropriate. Ethan shouldn't be made to think that his body was dirty or shameful, but he had to learn that there's a time and place for everything and Sunday dinner was neither the time or the place for a quickie under the table. Gabriel could have winked and told him he should excuse himself and go to the bathroom for that. He should also take a book, with nudie pictures neatly folded inside if needed, so others will assume something else is taking place and won't come knocking too soon. Jenna had a few more years before she had to worry about washing bed sheets and socks more often, but he could have the courtesy to give her a heads up so she didn't find herself stammering like an idiot on the other end of the phone the way he did when the school nurse called.

"Mommy and Daddy are going away for their anniversary tonight. Are you going to come over?" He asked hopefully.

Gabriel remembered Jenna mentioning something about them taking a day trip to celebrate their wedding anniversary, but she didn't ask him to babysit because she knew that any further personal appearances would be on an emergency basis only. "I have to go home tonight." He broke the news as gently as he could and tried not to let Ethan's obviously disappointed expression cut too deep. "But I'm sure you will like your sitter."

"No I don't." He grumbled miserably. "She makes fun of me and calls me a dork. Sometimes she smacks me in the head."

"She what?" He asked frowning. "Why does she hit you?"

"Once when she came, her boyfriend came over even though Mommy told her no visitors. I saw them kissing on the couch and she hit me and told me she would make me eat soap if I ever told anyone."

"Did you tell your mother?"

"No, but she made me eat soap anyway. It tasted bad and made me sick." He told him quietly. He didn't understand why he was punished even though he kept his promise. That wasn't the way deals were supposed to work as far as he knew.

"What if I tell her?" He asked hopefully. "I don't think your babysitter can make me eat soap." _I'd love to see her try…_ "What if I could promise you that you'll never have to worry about her again?" Ethan's eyes nearly exploded with adoration for his hero and it brought a smile to his face. He wasn't a bad kid to care for, in fact quite easy compared to Jenna, and he just couldn't stand by and watch the wench make his life miserable while she and her boyfriend got it on in his daughter's house. "Tonight will be the last night she will ever lay a hand on you." He vowed. "Deal?"

Ethan slapped Gabe's outstretched hand as hard as he could with a broad smile because he knew that at least he kept his promises. "Deal!" He beamed, secure in the knowledge that the older man would somehow protect him from the mean old babysitter.

Jenna was shocked at what her father told her and she felt guilty for leaving her child with such an irresponsible brat. Secretly she always doubted the story Ethan gave her when she questioned him on how he got a bump on his head the previous week, but she never would have imagined it came from the person who was supposed to care for him and she felt sick and enraged. The girl was the daughter of a coworker and she trusted her with her child's very life. She wanted to call the girl and her mother and curse them out, but Gabriel calmed her before she could do anything rash. He had a better idea.

It took some doing and impeccable timing, but Jenna smuggled Gabriel into her house without her son or husband knowing and stuffed him into a closet just off the living room. It may have been a bit uncomfortable, but the slatted door afforded him a good view and it was unlikely that anyone would need any of the cleaning items stored inside with him. It was all Jenna could do to pretend that nothing was amiss while the girl sweetly told her to enjoy her outing because she had everything under control. Gabriel silently watched them from his den, the girl playing sweet and innocent while it didn't seem that Jenna told Carlos anything. Ethan awkwardly stood in the middle of the room, no doubt wondering exactly how or when his knight in shining armor was going to show up to save the day like he said he would.

"Bye, Ethan. You get to be the man of the house while I'm gone." Carlos waved as he guided an apprehensive Jenna out the door with his hand on her back. "Be good."

"Bye, Daddy." He waved sadly. It was all starting to sink in for him that after the door closed he was going to be left alone with his tormentor, but he was trying to be brave and hope that maybe she wouldn't be so mean to him like she always was. Maybe if he was extra quiet or nice she wouldn't hit him…

As soon as the door closed and she flipped the lock, her Jekyll and Hyde personality turned and she turned to Ethan with a derisive sneer. "Go to bed." She demanded.

"But," he stammered looking at the clock, "my bedtime is 9:00." He couldn't really tell time yet, but even he knew it was way too early for bed.

"Daniel's coming over and I don't want you to screw things up. Now go to bed you little shit." She hissed, giving his head a shove that sent him tumbling over the coffee table. It happened so fast, Ethan didn't even realize what happened until he found himself in a pile on the floor. But as he tried to pick himself up, he was shaking for fear that she would clobber him again if he didn't move fast enough and he clumsily fell again. His arm and forehead bore red marks from his spill, but he didn't cry even though they hurt because he learned that she wouldn't have any pity on him. "You're such a dumbass." She laughed. "Stupid dork."

Gabriel had seen enough. Silent as a cat, he levitated himself a fraction of an inch off the floor so as not to alert the babysitter of his presence until he was inches behind her. Ethan's misery exploded into ecstasy at the sight of his savior. Suddenly his bumps and bruises no longer mattered, he came just like he said he would! The babysitter turned to see what he was gaping at and nearly found herself buried in Gabriel's chest. "Oh my god!" She shrieked, jumping backwards and waving her arms wildly. "What the fuck? Who the hell are you? How did you get in?"

He looked down on her with a profound sense of distaste. "I have a key, I'm an acquaintance of Jenna, and I think it's time for you to go out the way I came in." He let the menacing anger he felt smolder in his dark eyes and rumble at a low timber in his voice, striking the fear of god in her. His long fingers itched to exact some vengeance, to make her feel the terror she inflicted on a young boy, to toss her across the room the way she so callously did to Ethan, but he bit down on his urges with everything he had. He didn't want Ethan to witness the violence and as he was so much bigger than she was, it wouldn't have been any different than what she did.

She obviously wanted to take his invitation, but she glanced back at her charge as though he were an anchor impeding her escape. "I can't just leave him, I'm supposed to watch him."

Gabriel gave her a sarcastic smirk. "Touching of you to suddenly realize the responsibility you were charged with and take it seriously, but forgive me if I doubt your sincerity."

"Get out before I call the cops, creep." She demanded, although she was terrified of the tall, menacing man.

"Please do." He invited handing her his cell phone to use. "When they get here, they will love seeing the video I just recorded of you abusing a child. And I would just guess that odds are, your boyfriend is over 18." It was a shot in the dark, but he quirked his eyebrow up in amusement when she blanched white. "Shall we wait for him to arrive so they can deal with that business all at once? I'd hate for them to have to make two trips."

"You wouldn't." She dared him.

He laughed lightly before sharpening is glare. "You don't know me, and you have no idea what I will or will not do. Now get your things and go before you find out." She kept her eyes locked on him as she slowly picked up her backpack, wary of his every move. "Don't forget anything," he instructed her in a growl, "you won't be coming back." She briefly thought about giving him a parting shot to the groin as she slipped past him through the door just to ensure her some extra time in case he planned on chasing her, but something in his intense expression told her it would not be a wise move on her part and she scampered away like a frightened rodent. He blinked a few times to clear the murderous glare from his eyes and took a few deep breaths to dispel the coiled tension in his muscles before turning to Ethan with a well practiced smile. "Are you ok, buddy?" He compassionately asked, kneeling in front of the boy who looked as though he were relieved, yet still a little frightened.

He indicated that he did, but softly admitted, "My arm hurts."

"Let's take a look." He soothingly smiled, lifting the boy's arm to take a peek at the blue patch forming by his elbow. "Not too bad." He optimistically assessed, still leaving enough doubt in his voice to validate Ethan's pain. "Let's see what we can do to make it better." He gently rubbed the bruise to ease the stinging and throbbing he felt while he spoke to him in soft tones to both comfort and distract him. "So it's still early and you probably haven't had dinner yet. Would you like to go out to eat with me?" He had to think of something to get them out of the house because he couldn't stay there. Jenna would have to come pick him up elsewhere to keep Carlos from meeting him. There was no doubt that Ethan would remember the encounter, but Gabriel hoped that with time it would fade into some nondescript impression.

"Yeah!" Ethan squealed with glee. Although he had no reason to think Gabe would simply walk out the door and leave him there, the promise of getting to spend more time with him made him happy. He was hungry, but they could have played games, went to the park, or just toss rocks at pigeons and it would have been fine with him.

"Have you ever had gelato?" He inquired with a sly smile. "It's like ice cream, only better. I hear it can make any pain go away."

He certainly seemed excited to try, but he was a little hesitant. "You aren't supposed to eat dessert until after dinner."

"Usually." He conceded with a thoughtful expression as he ran his thumb over the red mark on his grandson's forehead. "But we can bend the rules just this once. It will be our little secret, ok?"


	20. Rescue Me

**Chapter 20- Rescue Me**

_Age: 50_

Gabriel had never quite seen anything like it in his life, but he should have known what the fallout was going to look like given the circumstances. Peter took Emma's loss incredibly hard, perhaps a little harder than anyone expected. He quit his job as a paramedic, not unusual in and of itself because he had to do so every 15 years or so to avoid suspicion, but he always found a new position with a different ambulance company within the week due to the high demand of qualified medical providers to manage the mishaps of a city as large and diverse as New York. He did not, however, even bother applying for any new jobs of any kind. While Gabriel once questioned his propensity to work when he didn't have to, the fact that he had no desire to worried him a bit because it just wasn't like Peter to sit around and do nothing. And do nothing he did, for months on end.

It got to the point that Gabriel had to make a personal visit to the home that he and Emma once shared because Peter wasn't returning his phone calls. It might have been deceitful, but he even sent him a text message that said something to the effect that he needed help because he had been struck and crushed by a falling piece of the International Space Station, but it likewise went unanswered. It was ridiculously easy to gain access to Peter's apartment by flicking his finger to disengage the lock, but it wasn't as if Peter wanted to put up a fight anyway judging by the way he didn't even bother to get up off the couch to see who the intruder was. Gabriel tried not to make any disgusted faces at the stale smell of the place made worse only by the fact that Peter hadn't even attempted to bathe in a few days. God knows he had been in some pretty socially compromising situations himself and Peter never let it bother him, at least outwardly, so he tried to afford him the same courtesy and graciously overlooked the olfactory assault. He didn't really know what to do because uncharacteristically he didn't plan ahead, but it wasn't as if he knew what to expect so they ended up staring at one another awkwardly for a time before Gabriel finally got up the courage to ask, "Can I open a window?" Being gracious never really came naturally to him and he felt the risk of appearing slightly insensitive was a better bet than the prospect of becoming a slack-jawed mouth breather.

"Yeah," Peter answered halfheartedly, "and you can jump out of it while you're at it."

Gabriel paused to glance back as he lifted the sash. He couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "Would it make you feel any better?" It would be a painful and messy affair, but he would consider it if it would snap him out of his funk.

"Not really." He glumly admitted, staring blankly at the rug on the floor. Emma had picked it out. He hated the floral pattern, but he kept it because she liked it. He still hated it, but he couldn't make himself throw it out because it felt too much like betrayal.

Gabriel leaned on the sill, reluctant to walk away from the fresh air that gently blew in and even more reluctant to turn and face Peter. "You can't go on like this." He observed in a low tone. "You can't mourn her forever."

"Why not? I have forever to do it." He challenged. He really wanted it to sound more bitter than it came out, but he just didn't have the energy. "And who are you to give me advice on bereavement anyway? It isn't like you feel a damn thing when people leave the earth forever." Gabriel chuckled and hung his head, an odd response from Peter's perspective. "What's so funny?"

"You still don't believe that I am capable of normal human emotional responses. You stubbornly hold onto the perception that I'm some kind of machine, devoid of all feeling and why? Does it make you more comfortable to think that I am somehow inferior to you in some way? Or does it actually make you wish you were more like me because you think it makes the prospect of living forever easier?"

Peter shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't expecting Gabriel to come to his house to personally insult him or make him face his own prejudices. "Does it matter?"

"Not really." He sighed, watching the lights come on in the city one by one as the sun faded below the horizon. "Because both assumptions would be wrong. It's a lot more complicated than that, Peter, but my feelings or lack thereof is not the purpose of my coming here. When you have forever on the horizon, you can't spend it all looking back."

"Easy for you to say! You've never lost anyone that you really and truly gave a rat's ass about because you don't let anyone get close enough to you for it to hurt." He saw the way Gabriel perked up as if to object and quickly added, "Claire and I don't count."

"Fine." He quietly replied as he narrowed his dark eyes in irritation. "Believe what you like, but all the milling about aimlessly, stewing in your own grief won't bring her back. And if you ask me, it doesn't say much about your theory."

Peter shook his head exasperated. He just wasn't in the mood for his lectures and logic, he just wanted to be left the hell alone to wallow in his misery. "What theory? What are you talking about?"

"You once told me that you were not going to let Emma's inevitable demise interfere with your having a relationship with her because you believed that relationships added meaning to our existence." He patiently reminded him, trying his best to keep a scathingly sarcastic tone out of his voice. In the end he just couldn't help himself. "Care to revise your hypothesis?"

"No." Peter declared with conviction. "But if I suck at it, so do you." It was Gabriel's turn to look perplexed, giving Peter a slight boost of cheer that he actually remembered some obscure conversation that had somehow escaped the steel trap mind of the watchmaker. "I remember you once told me that you didn't believe in friendships because they were messy, unrealistic, and tedious. Looks like you revised your grand theory as well or else you wouldn't be here right now." He taunted petulantly.

"It isn't so much friendship," Gabriel slowly proclaimed, still trying to figure out the best way to spin his hypocrisy and still save face, "as it is a well functioning, mutually beneficial arrangement." He glanced to his less than convinced partner as if to see if there was any way at all he could get him to buy it.

"Whatever." Peter huffed. "No matter what it is, it's the pot calling the kettle black." He found the strength to haul himself off the couch and he looked despondently at his bare cabinets. "I don't suppose you have any stir-fry in your pocket." He guessed glumly. He hadn't eaten in a few days, but it wasn't entirely out of a lack of motivation. His melancholy had effectively driven away his appetite for the most part, leaving him to subsist on a mostly liquid diet only because he knew he had to ingest something every once in awhile.

"No, but I do know of a great little Chinese place on the lower east side. While it may not be as good as mine, it's pretty decent." He couldn't help but grant himself a little appreciation if only because it brought a small smirk to Peter's face for being such a self-serving jerk.

"I guess I should go outside at some point." He sighed, not really wanting to. He didn't feel like being in the throngs of people that usually made him feel alive, but he didn't want to spend another evening all alone either. While Gabriel may not have been his first choice of a night on the town with, the ex-murderer was full of surprises. He may not do karaoke, but he knew where to find the most obscure, quietest spot with the best view of the city to share a good bottle of wine.

"Yes you should." He agreed with a patronizing tone. "But first you should go wash the colony of millions of bacteria off your body. I don't want to go to dinner with them."

Peter peeled off his shirt and casually tossed it on the couch on his way to the bathroom. "It's a package deal. Love me, love my bacteria." Normally, he would have put the soiled shirt in the hamper to be washed, but he knew that leaving it behind would set Gabriel's OCD off and petty as it was, he wanted to torture him just a little for his troubles. It was a 50/50 shot that he would return to find his shirt deposited in the trash can if Gabriel couldn't hold out staring at the out of place, dirty rag for the duration of the extremely long, extremely hot shower he planned to take.

Gabriel clenched his jaw and glared at the smelly fabric draped so carelessly over the couch. It wasn't his house so it wasn't really his place to tidy up, but he couldn't help but feel like Peter was in some way marking his territory just to see how he'd react. After a few minutes of contemplation, he decisively tossed the filthy garment right out the window with his telekinesis so he wouldn't actually have to touch the disgusting thing. Peter wasn't hurting for money so he could buy a new one he reasoned. Maybe some stray dog or cat would find it suitable to make a bed out of, or maybe to pee on…

Peter wasn't really mad that Gabriel sacrificed his shirt for the greater good, and he couldn't be miffed at him for dragging him out of his apartment to get something to eat even if he didn't really have anything profound to say during the meal. It wasn't really like Gabriel to offer overdone and pithy attempts at condolence anyway. Claire was the provider of warm comfort and understanding, but he had no inclination for such things. As was his style, he quietly offered the only thing he could: simple companionship and a peaceful, still vibe that helped pull Peter out of his stupor and remind him that life did indeed go on, one plate of dim sum at a time. He was not a miracle worker, but he was patient enough to make the invitation a standing one so long as Peter steadily showed some improvement, be it finally tossing some trivial artifact of Emma's away or confiding that he spent part of his afternoon perusing the help wanted ads. He knew from his own struggle that change didn't happen overnight, but sometimes it really was all about the process rather than the ultimate outcome.

Years later as Peter sat across from his former nemesis in the same small eatery decorated with all manner of banners and lanterns, he couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all. "What's so funny?" Gabriel asked, cocking his head slightly.

"This." He chuckled, gesturing to the two of them. "Back at Kirby Plaza, it never occurred to me to go out with you after and get a slice of pizza. I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams that we'd be sitting here like this."

"Neither did I." He admitted, swishing the remnants of his sake in the small porcelain cup that was elegantly decorated with a blue and gold fish. "Then again, I didn't imagine that anything that has happened actually could, starting with us having abilities. I never even knew such a thing existed until Chandra walked into my shop and gave me a copy of his book. Imagine if he never did." He scoffed and shook his head sadly. "I would have died an old man hunched over my workbench." His eyes grew dark and his voice fell to a barely audible whisper. "Utterly ordinary and insignificant."

"I don't think you could ever have been entirely insignificant." Peter divulged with a small smile. "You would have found something to excel at. It's just who you are. Maybe you would have been some big time designer. Instead of Rolex, people would pay top dollar for a Gray watch."

Gabriel gave him a smirk that told his partner he was grateful, but unconvinced. "It doesn't quite have the same ring or panache. Besides, fixing a timepiece and designing one are entirely different pursuits. I'm mechanically inclined, not artistically – unless I'm using Isaac's gift, of course."

Peter sat back in his chair, giggling at his early development. "My first masterwork was a stick figure. It didn't quite work that well for me at first." In the alternate future he witnessed, Sylar painted a picture, but he thought the Shanti virus wiped it out. He narrowed his eyes and inquired, "Do you still have that one?"

He shook his head, but there was no sense of real regret. "Lost it."

He started to tell him he was sorry, but he did kill a man to get it, so the only real thing to regret was the loss of an actual artist and his prophetic 7th Wonders comic book. It came in handy even if it was sometimes short on clarity or detail. "Hey," he sat up as he looked out the window, "isn't that Jenna and Ethan?"

Gabriel leaned forward to see out the glass and he gave an affirmative nod as he watched Jenna talk to her now 16-year-old son. Ethan was tall just like his grandfather and just as thin, but he had a certain sense of presence that Gabriel never had at that age. It wasn't exactly confidence, but it was at least self-sufficiency and it made him smile. Maybe things wouldn't be as bad as he feared for the boy. Maybe Ethan could come to understand that his self worth wasn't tied to those around him in terms of an unbroken bloodline. At least he had several years worth of solid foundation built of his mother and a man who was around even if he wasn't his real father, unlike his own experience. Ever since his first day of life, Ethan enjoyed a stability that he never had but he wasn't jealous of the boy's fortunes- he was relieved that he wouldn't have to suffer the same consequences he did growing up.

"Wow, he's getting big." Peter noted with a sense of wonder. "I remember when Jenna was his age. It doesn't seem like that long ago we were locked in your bathroom while you pretended to vomit from an overdose. Where did the time go?"

Gabriel glanced around in an apologetic manner to the fellow patrons who happened to catch the conversation and tersely reminded, "Some topics should not be discussed in polite company."

"Oh yeah." He nodded in understanding. Surely it was all his years as a paramedic that jaded him to social convention because he used to be fairly well heeled. But after so many long shifts and so much trauma, talking about medical unpleasantries while he ate just seemed normal. "He doesn't really look much like you." He observed. "He's got your mouth and that's about it."

"He shouldn't." Gabriel scoffed incredulously. "It's not like I'm his father, we only share 25% of the same genetic code. Do you look like your grandfather?"

"Not really." He shrugged. "But all I had were pictures. Did you look like yours?"

"I have no idea." He likewise answered. "I didn't even have pictures. I haven't a clue what his name even was. Some traits are dominant such as dark coloration of the eyes and hair, but most other features depend on a combination of alleles that tend to wash out with each subsequent addition of fresh DNA material. If it was otherwise, mutations would rapidly accumulate and the whole of the species would…" He was drowned out by the sound of honking horns, squealing tires, and the collective screams of bystanders outside.

Peter was out the door before someone could finish yelling, "Call 911!" Technically, he still had a license even if he wasn't currently employed, but he knew that every second counted and he could help save a life if he could get control of the situation and get a jump start on treatment until the ambulance arrived. He pushed his way through the crowd and came to a dead stop at the scene of the accident, momentarily shocked at the sight that awaited him.

The driver of a small red car had lost control and jumped the curb into a crowd of people waiting to cross the street. Most were successful at getting out of the way of the speeding car, but a few were trapped or simply caught off guard. It wasn't anything that he hadn't seen before, but two of the unlucky victims were Ethan and Jenna. She lay partially on top of her son as if she tried to shield him from the oncoming disaster at the last second, but it looked as though they were both thrown a few feet by the impact. Peter quickly scanned the crowd and his heart sank when he spotted who he was dreading. "Gabriel, stay there!" He demanded with an intense expression. "I mean it, stay right where you are and don't come any closer!" He didn't want him to see his family lying in a collective pool of blood. Who knew how he would handle it, but he didn't want to find out.

Gabriel only stepped outside to see what Peter was up to since he had no real interest in turkey necking; he had seen more than enough misfortune in his life for it to be a novelty. But his dire warning piqued his interest and filled the pit of his stomach with a sense of impending doom. There was only one reason he would make such a demand and he found himself almost frantically shoving his way to the inner fringe of the onlookers. When he surveyed the scene, his heart stopped. Jenna was motionless on top of Ethan, who was bloodied and looked to be barely conscious of his surroundings. Peter concentrated on them while another citizen who identified herself as a nurse tended to the other victims. He never felt so helpless in his life as he watched Peter carefully roll Jenna onto her back so he could start chest compressions in an effort to sustain her until help arrived. He didn't have the medical training that Peter did to help her, and not one of his numerous abilities were of any use in coming to her rescue. He couldn't heal her, he couldn't take her pain away, even trying to give her his energy via Damian's ability would be useless because she didn't have the capability to use it to fuel the regenerative process, but it didn't stop Peter from trying.

As he doggedly and tirelessly provided compressions, a steady stream of shimmering energy flowed from him into his patient as he made every effort to save her. "Come on, Jenna," he encouraged her through clenched teeth, "you can't leave. Ethan needs you, Gabriel needs you. Come on, breathe!" Even though he gave it all he had, his pleas were met with stubborn silence. All he could hope for was that the paramedics could give her a shot of epinephrine and defibrillate her heart into working again. If he could just keep her blood circulating, maybe he could keep her brain alive and minimize the damage…

Although it felt like eternity, in reality it was only a matter of a few minutes before the first ambulance arrived and identified her as the most critical. Peter stepped back and allowed the paramedics to work and he watched as they cut open her shirt and attached the leads to the middle of her chest and her left side. "Clear." One warned the other before he sent the jolt that made Jenna's back arch before she again collapsed to the ground, unresponsive. "Give me 1mg of epi and up it to 360 joules." Peter knew they were going for broke. He also knew that if it didn't work, that would be it. For the sake of the bystanders, they might continue to work on her as they loaded her into the back of the ambulance, but it would only be for show. After 3 minutes had elapsed and the epinephrine had worn off, they would try once more to revive her, but the odds were not good.

Ethan's mind cleared enough to realize that something had gone terribly wrong. He could hardly breathe for the pain he felt in his chest and right arm and he was aware that he was bleeding from the mouth and nose, but he weakly lifted his head to look for his mother. He spotted her not more than a few feet away, laying on her back with her shirt in shreds, surrounded by EMT's. He watched her jump and her head rolled to the side to face him. Just between the paramedic's legs, he could see her unfocused eyes at half mast, there was no sign of life in the deep brown eyes he had always known. "Mom?" He called in a mix of confusion and fear.

Peter glanced back at Ethan and then to Gabriel, who was clearly horrified at the whole affair. He knew that he wanted to come forward and shield Ethan from seeing his mother fight for her life, and one glimpse into his mind brought about a shocking revelation. Gabriel was not entirely motivated to intervene purely for Ethan's sake, for a split second he was reliving a moment from his own history. _I can't let him see his mother's dead eyes. It will haunt him the rest of his life the way it did me. Her eyes were so lifeless…just staring into eternity…and I was too young to understand. I can't let him watch her die in front of him. I don't want him to remember her that way._ Peter shook himself to disconnect from the powerful trance and kneeled in front of Ethan to block his view. "Lay down." He instructed him with a firm but friendly tone. "You should try to be as still as possible until the paramedics can determine your injuries."

"What's wrong with my Mom?" He asked in a daze. Peter could tell he was struggling to focus, a sure sign of a head injury or worse yet, shock. "She's ok, right?"

He looked back at the medical crew as they quickly packed up and sped off, sirens blaring. "They got her heart going again." He replied, hoping he was convincing enough. He didn't lie to the boy because they did manage to get a faint signal. They took off like a bat out of hell in a mad dash to get her to the emergency room before they lost it again, but he didn't want to burden him with more than he could handle. He stayed with Ethan while Gabriel looked on from a safe enough distance that he wouldn't be spotted until the second and third squads arrived on the scene to scoop up the remaining victims needing treatment.

"Thanks for your help." A female tech nodded to him as she helped lift the gurney containing Ethan into the back of the wagon. "It's always nice when bystanders give us a hand. Too many people in this city just don't give a damn, you know?"

"Yeah." Peter nodded sadly. She was right, not many people could be bothered enough to help another even in an emergency for fear of being sued, being too busy, or fear of potential contamination, but it did make his job so much easier if someone on the scene had the courage to step up and start chest compressions or put pressure on bleeding wounds until he arrived. "Where you taking him?"

"Depends if he has insurance. If he does, Sinai. If not, Bellvue." She sighed, obviously in disagreement with the status quo. "He'll get the best care his money can buy."

Peter knew how the game was played. While the ancient public hospital's doctors were just as good as those employed at the more prestigious, private care facilities, they were overworked, understaffed, and underequipped to deal with the masses dumped on their doorstep because the sick and injured had no means to pay. Lines were long and the wait to see a doctor could be longer. Precious time could be wasted languishing on gurneys parked in the hallway like airplanes taxiing the runway, the occupants moaning in pain and suffering from neglect. "Take him to Sinai." Peter instructed. "I will personally guarantee his bill will be paid." He quickly dug into his pocket to hand her a credit card. "Hold this until you get there as collateral. I promise I'll be there to get it back."

She looked skeptical, but something in his earnest expression told her to trust him. "You better be there." She warily told him. If he didn't show up to foot the bill, her boss would chew her ass out. She slammed the back door shut and the sirens warned all to move out of the way with a piercing wail as Peter watched it pull away.

Gabriel's eyes were hard as steel, but just behind the façade flickered the unmistakable look of fear bordering on panic. He waited for Peter to get within earshot before tensely asking, "How bad is it?" Sensing that he might try to soften the blow out of some misguided sense of optimism or charity, he lowered his voice and qualified, "_Really_?" Peter looked into his eyes in a resigned manner that confirmed his worst fears.

"Ethan will probably be ok. He might have some broken bones and maybe a concussion. But Jenna…" He paused when Gabriel's resolve faltered and his eye twitched as he started breathing faster when the anxiety began to swallow him alive. He knew he was waiting to hear the worst, but he just couldn't do it. He was never a person to write off anyone because he knew people could sometimes overcome the most seemingly insurmountable odds and he wasn't going to underestimate Jenna- especially if she had the survivability of her father. "I don't know, but we can go see." He didn't have to ask where she was taken, he knew the routes and rules of triage. Because she was critical, she would have been taken to the nearest ER regardless of insurance status and that would just so happen to be the same that Ethan went to. He told the tech he would meet her there, and he got them there the fastest way he knew how which was not a second too soon for Gabriel.

The ER was a chaotic, incomprehensible place to Gabriel. People ran everywhere, yelling an acronym alphabet soup of tests and drugs that mingled together with the plaintive cries of the injured. It would have been distressing enough were it not for the fact that his daughter and grandson were adrift somewhere in the madness. More than ever, he called upon all that made him Sylar in order to deal with the situation in a calm, rational, and detached manner. There was no other way he could face it because he would have otherwise broken down from the stress of it all.

"Stay here." Peter instructed as he pointed to the packed waiting room. "I'll try to find out what's going on. I know this place pretty well. Just sit tight." He knew that Gabriel didn't like being given commands to sit and stay as though he were a dog, but Peter well remembered the way he almost went off on the staff in New Jersey when he didn't get the answers he wanted in a timely manner, and he could only imagine that his fuse would be that much shorter given the fact that the situation was a little more dire this time around. Although it had only been a few years since he last worked as a paramedic, he wasn't too concerned about being recognized by anyone since the staff in emergency rooms turned over frequently due to the high stress environment. If anyone made it past 5 years, they deserved a medal or a mental evaluation. Still, to aid his quest, he ducked into the locker room and borrowed a paramedic's shirt from an open locker and headed straight for the intake desk. He gave the charge nurse a friendly smile and kept his tone business like. "Can I get an update on two accident victims that were brought in? Ethan and Jenna Carter?"

The nurse didn't ask for an ID or even inquire as to why he wanted to know. "Nobody with that name." She answered in a bored tone. "We have a Jenna Carter-Martinez."

"Yeah, that it." He shrugged, trying to sound as if it was a careless mistake on his part. Teleportation all but ensured he beat Ethan to the hospital. "The son was on his way here. Anyway, what do you have so far?"

"Looks like she was evaluated and an EEG was ordered. No results yet." She read from her screen while she took charts from a doctor in one hand and handed a pen to another to sign off on paperwork with the other without skipping a beat.

"Ok, I'll check back in a bit. Thanks." He graciously nodded. He didn't want to linger too long or make a pest of himself because he knew that she was going to be his best source of information, so he needed to make every effort to stay on her good side. He took off his shirt as soon as he reached the waiting room, both as a means of remaining discreet and also so as not to become a target for those tired of waiting and willing to seek treatment from him. He found Gabriel pretty much where he left him standing and gave him a hopeful yet guarded greeting as he placed his hands on his hips. "They are giving her an EEG."

"To see if she's brain dead?" He guessed darkly. He was smart enough to know what an EEG was and what it was generally used for. If they had to hook her up to a machine to tell them if there was any electrical activity going on in her brain, the situation was not looking good.

Peter knew immediately that he was dealing with someone else entirely, although he couldn't blame him. "Or to confirm that she does." He stubbornly insisted. "They won't know either way until they do the test."

Gabriel just stared down at him, seemingly emotionless. He knew that there were procedures to be followed and policy to be executed, but he could foresee the endgame clearly enough to view the dog and pony show for what it was. Still, a small part of him held onto hope that Peter was right, that she could somehow pull through, but it was almost against all probability and logic. He seemed to withdraw into himself as he sat quietly among the suffering, fear, pain, and anxiety that surrounded him to a degree that was worrisome. It was as if he were trying to prepare himself to let go the way he did at his execution, to realize that his world was about to radically change without his control and it was excruciating to watch, but Peter knew better than to try and talk to him. What he needed was to be alone even if he was dying inside. If there was anything he learned about Gabriel during the war, it was that he was an intensely private person who dealt with things in his own way and in his own time.


	21. Paint It Black

**Chapter 21- Paint it Black**

Nearly 8 hours had passed, but Gabriel sat mostly in the same position even though the faces of the wounded and worried changed as if in shifts, presenting fresh maladies and batches of trauma in a never ending stream of misfortune. The only comfort he had was knowing that the seats on either side of him were occupied by people who were not likely to bleed on him or drop dead any time soon. Peter had called Claire to tell her of the accident. Gabriel barely listened to his phone conversation, but if he told her anything else regarding his secret reservations, she wasn't letting on. She would occasionally glance at him apprehensively, but she made no attempt to say anything to him or try to offer false hope or cheer and for that he was grateful. The last thing he wanted was for her to fawn all over him. It would not only be ineffectual, it would just be downright awkward. Although he didn't really want her to come share his misery, he didn't try to stop Peter because Claire knew Jenna well enough to have her own concerns. He liked to think that was what brought her there rather than a misplaced need to babysit him or hold his hand.

Carlos had arrived approximately an hour after Jenna and Ethan were admitted. He sat alone in a corner of the waiting area, alternately shifting in his chair or getting up to pace for a bit. Occasionally, he would anxiously turn his wedding ring on his finger with a miserable expression. It was clear he was worried, and it gave Gabriel a small measure of satisfaction to know that he cared enough for them to be so outwardly distraught. Even though Carlos had never seen any of them, they cautiously kept a safe distance so he couldn't hear the group of strangers discuss his wife's condition or details of her life that as far as he was concerned, they had no reason or means to know.

Peter was able to keep them up to date, however, by reading the mind of every nurse or doctor that ventured into the area to speak with him and the news was generally not good. Although the messenger often left out important details in her progress in order to try and keep a small measure of hope alive, he was able to fill in the gaps with educated guesses and outright mind digging to get the whole story. The driver that hit them had been drinking along with taking pain medication, causing him to pass out and lose control of the car. Jenna's heart had stopped several times since arriving in the emergency room and they feared that all the cumulative lapses of available oxygen may have resulted in some level of permanent brain damage. As her ability to maintain her vitals was sporadic, she was placed on life support in an effort to give her the best chance possible to recover with a minimal amount of physical strain. Her EEG did come back positive, but she was in a deep coma. The nurse was quick to point out that it meant nothing in and of itself because recovery was often spontaneous, but they wouldn't know how she would fare until the next critical 72 hours had passed.

Ethan joined Carlos three and a half hours later, his face swollen and bruised from a broken nose and his arm in a sling to take pressure off his broken collarbone. He moved stiffly and his eyes were still hazy as though he still couldn't fully comprehend his circumstances. Gabriel carefully watched him as he painfully sat down and wondered if it was the residual effects of his concussion or if the gravity of the situation had finally set in for him. Whichever it was, he kept it to himself and didn't say much to his stepfather. He slouched in his chair, wincing as his sore muscles stretched, and lay his head back in an effort to try and get some rest while he waited.

Peter felt bad for him because he knew that he must have been in a good amount of pain even with the drugs he would have been given during treatment. Thankfully he had good health insurance, as he found out when he got his credit card back from the paramedic, so the house pharmacy filled his first round of prescription medication for him. It lay unopened in his lap along with his crumpled discharge papers, but at the rate things were going, he was going to be there for awhile so it was good that he had it.

"I'm going to go get some coffee. You guys want anything?" Claire asked yawning as she stood to stretch.

"Yeah, get some for me too." Peter gratefully accepted. His energy had been flagging for some time, but he was trying his best to stay alert and upbeat for Gabriel's sake. "Black."

Gabriel shook his head miserably to indicate he didn't want anything. Maybe he was tired or hungry, but he had no concern for himself. Every ounce of energy he had went into the rumination that had been churning in his head, replaying every second of the day's events, trying to make some sense out of the random chaos that threatened to take everything that he had. Even though he knew that the accident was a chance event, he couldn't help but wonder if he could have altered the outcome by changing the sequence. Any action on his part could have impacted the moment, and as the more ways he could have made different choices piled up so did the crushing sense of guilt he felt that he didn't follow through on any of them. He began to realize just how selfish he had been in his pursuit of abilities. He only hunted and collected powers that were directly beneficial to him personally such as regeneration, telekinesis, even Damian's life force sucking ability could prove very useful given the right circumstances. But never once did he consider taking abilities that could potentially be used to help others and as he thought of his daughter suffering somewhere within the walls of the hospital, he wished he had taken something to help mend her broken body in ways that the doctors and all their modern technology couldn't.

But aside from abilities, he had a myriad of opportunities to alter the events through chance. He could have met with her for dinner rather than Peter, but more importantly he could have simply forgotten about his precious need for secrecy and went outside to say hello to her, Ethan's recognition of him be damned. By doing so he could have led them away from the edge of the sidewalk out of harm's way, or in the worst case scenario he could have simply used his ability to stop the speeding car in its tracks and saved everyone. He valued his anonymity, but looking back, the potential risk of being outed as the former killer and terrorist he was would have been worth saving her and everyone else. He probably never would consider himself a hero because he knew his own dark tendencies too well, but he would have done it if only he knew what to expect.

As he was not able to see into the future and predict events, his only hope for resolution lie in the fellow immortals that flanked him. Each offered a potential unique solution to his dilemma and he was fairly certain that they would help him if only he could get up the courage to ask. Peter tried to do what he could to save Jenna and Gabriel was profoundly grateful to him for it. He knew the situation must have been just as stressful for him because of his own close relationship with her almost as a second father, and although he didn't have more than a passing knowledge of Ethan, his concern extended to him as well and was proven by his compassion for not allowing him to watch his mother suffer. Peter may have acted out of a convoluted sense of professional duty to render aid as well as his own motivation to intervene, but Gabriel couldn't help but feel it may have also been done at least partially as a favor to him. He didn't have to stay with Ethan as he did, but it was as if Peter knew he was serving as a proxy and that for once he held all the power while Gabriel was left on the sidelines helpless to intercede on behalf of his own flesh and blood.

Peter knew what loss was, both through his job and his personal experience. Witnessing the deaths of Nathan and Emma had left the empath a changed man, although he never quite entirely lost sight of what he always considered to be universal truths: the basic goodness of people, the unshakeable faith that love conquered all, and a fierce loyalty to those closest to him no matter how many times he was hurt or betrayed. He always found a way to forgive and hold out hope that things would get better. But there was no denying that although the intervening years lessened the sting, Emma's passing still left an indomitable hole in his soul that was reflected in his haunted eyes. Gabriel never sought confirmation, but he strongly suspected that Peter had on occasion traveled back in time just to see her again- the way he and Hiro did in the dark alley to verify Jenna's attacker. If he did it once to soothe his own pain, he could do it again to allow him a second chance to alter the course of events that led them all there. But he didn't ask Peter to take him back because Hiro explained the rules of butterfly stomping to him in very clear terms. He already knew that he couldn't change anything even if he did go back least it set off a cataclysmic unforeseen chain of events that her circumstance prevented. As perverse as it sounded, Ethan's broken bones and her near death experience may actually have beneficial effects that would be erased if he stepped in. Maybe this accident would spur one or both on to greater things and the world would suffer or miss out on some great achievement or invention all because he tried to spare them a little misery. After all, wasn't it his own entanglement and mistreatment as a slave that prompted him to bring the entire system tumbling down? His original plan had been to lay low until the storm passed and opinions of specials changed. He knew that others suffered for their abilities, but he was largely unaffected by their plight until he found himself hanging in a slave trader's tent.

Claire, on the other hand, offered a much more realistic and immediate solution. It was her special blood that had saved his very life from being lost to the ravages of the Shanti virus. Her blood also rescued the lives of both of her fathers from the effects of radiation poisoning and being shot in the head. As much as Noah always marveled over his ability to survive almost any demise, he was equally amazed that the Company man could outlive a direct shot to the eye with no abilities to aid him. At least some of the statistically improbable outcome could be attributed to the cause of the injury: leave it to Mohinder to screw up what would have been a sure kill shot for anyone else, he thought bitterly. Claire too knew all too well what loss was and she too could have used her ability to intervene, but the fact that she didn't spoke volumes. There was no doubt that she loved both Nathan and Noah even though at times the relationships were rocky and rife with issues of trust and secrecy. She could have given both steady infusions of her fountain of eternal youth to keep them young, to correct the devastation of their aging bodies, but she didn't and he knew why. It all went back to the conversation he had with Peter in his kitchen about why he chose to work as a paramedic when it was all so futile. Yes there were times and circumstances when saving a life was not only practical, but necessary. But how long can one go on cheating death? At what point does it become clear that the need to survive is rooted in the fear of personal loss, of selfish desire to keep the ones you love close? How many times could he save his daughter only because he couldn't let her go? As he told Peter, once rescued, death will only come knocking at a new entrance, at a different time. It was inevitable, and it was unbearable.

Claire looked over the paltry offerings in the all night cafeteria in the basement of the hospital. They had missed the last call for actual food hours before, so all that was left were packaged doughnuts, chips, soda, coffee, and candy bars. For a hospital, one would think they would offer healthier options unless they were trying to ensure future business via diabetes and high blood pressure. She yawned sleepily as she poured a cup of strong, black coffee for Peter and one for herself, to which she added sweetener and flavored cream. Peter's choice smelled wonderful and it served to awaken her senses, but she couldn't imagine the stomach cramps that would come from drinking something so bitter. Almost as an afterthought, she poured another for Gabriel even though he said he didn't want anything. It seemed rude not to at least try and offer him some form of sustenance especially if she and Peter were going to be eating in front of him. She didn't know how he took his coffee, so she stuffed a few packets of sweetener and creamers into her pocket for him to use as he saw fit before grabbing an assortment of snacks for them to share. She paid for her purchase and returned to the waiting area, carefully balancing the drinks in the flimsy cardboard carrier the cashier scrounged up for her, but she found herself mysteriously alone. Gabriel and Peter were gone as were Carlos and Ethan. Her heart sank in her chest. Suddenly, she wasn't tired or hungry anymore because she just knew that something terrible had happened.

In her absence, a nurse approached Carlos and Ethan with a calm but certain sense of tense urgency that sent a stab of panic through Gabriel's chest. "Follow me," the nurse instructed in an unmistakably sad tone, "there's been a development that we need to discuss."

Peter knew from his own time in hospitals and from Emma's conversations about her job as the head of ER's that it meant only one thing: the family had a decision to make. He swallowed hard and looked to Gabriel with all the compassion he could muster. "I'm sorry." He told him as sincerely as he could while he watched the vacuous darkness in his eyes swallow the last vestiges of all that made him human. "Do you want to go back there? If you do, I'll make it happen." He vowed cautiously. He could honestly see it going either way with his paternal instincts compelling him to be with his child and his logical side telling him to just walk away and avoid the pain. "What do you want to do?"

Gabriel's voice cracked slightly before it became flat and nearly monotone. He was clearly struggling to keep it all together and it was heartbreaking. "I have to see her." Peter was relieved that even though it was going to be devastatingly tragic, he was choosing to listen to his softer side. Sylar would no doubt return in full force, but for the time being he was still trying to hold on. He gave him a supportive, understanding nod and loosely grabbed his elbow to cloak them both in invisibility and to teleport them past any closed doors they might encounter. They easily caught up to the other party thanks to Ethan's slowed, limping gait and they followed right into Jenna's room.

She lay in a prone position, all manner of tubes and wires running in and out of her in a grotesque tangle of machinery that fed her, breathed for her, and kept her heart beating for her like she was some sort of cyborg. Her head was bandaged with snowy white gauze and her swollen eyes were taped shut in some mockery of peaceful rest. Carlos gently reached down to stroke a length of her dark but slowly graying hair while Ethan looked over the scene incomprehensively, no doubt thinking that it was partially his fault. If she hadn't tried to protect him… The doctor gave the family a moment to adjust to the reality of the situation before quietly beginning his speech. "She sustained a skull fracture in the accident, which caused her brain to swell. We removed a portion of the skull to relieve the pressure, but unfortunately she has had a stroke near the brainstem. She is now dependent on the life support system to maintain her vital functions." He paused to let the shock of the news subside before gently continuing. "We have consulted with neurologists and neurosurgeons, but we are of the opinion that she is unlikely to recover even if we attempt to clamp the bleeding vessel."

"So what are you saying?" Carlos stammered helplessly. "Are you saying she's dead?"

"No." The doctor patiently corrected. His job was never easy. "But she will not survive on her own without support. It is, of course, your decision as to whether or not we continue treatment, but her prognosis is very poor."

Carlos looked down on the woman he loved as tears clouded his eyes. He never imagined being a widower. In fact, he never thought that when he left for work that morning it would be the last time he saw his wife alive. He shook his head sadly and his voice was laden with anguish. "It's not what she wanted. She wouldn't want to live like this." He didn't want to let her go, but he had to. He had to do what was best for her.

Unseen in the corner of the room, Gabriel clenched his jaw and trembled slightly under Peter's grasp while the doctor solemnly powered down the machines that forced her body to function. He knew that it was the right thing to do, but he couldn't make himself let go. He was watching his child die before his eyes and everything within him screamed to find a way to bring her back. She had been his only reason for abstaining from giving in to his dark impulses, she was his connection to the greater world around him that he could never really be a part of, and she was firmly rooted deep with his very heart and soul. She loved him even though she knew who he was and what he'd done, and she taught him perhaps better than anyone how to be human again. As he watched her struggle for her final breath, he felt something with himself die along with her and he couldn't bear it. Peter had to act quickly because he had seen that look before and he knew that none of Sylar's cool logic, patient restraint, or well crafted theory would contain the overwhelming grief that was about to surge to the surface, so in a flash he whisked them away.

He didn't know if Gabriel still had his thermonuclear ability or not, but just to be on the safe side he deposited them in the middle of the desert in Nevada where nuclear tests were once carried out. There was no way he could stop an exploding man, but he could try and keep him from wiping entire cities off the map. He held his breath as he watched Gabriel drop to his knees, arms raised in surrender as he let out the most anguished, guttural, primal scream he had ever heard. Although the winds carried away the echoes of his sorrow across the hardpan desert floor, it did nothing to diminish the pain he felt inside and he found himself distraught beyond tears. He had only come close to such devastating agony once in his life and that was when Jessup tried to pull his chip out of his neck. But that was a physical sense of doom that was real, people could see the blood flowing from the open wound and his suffering could be measured in ragged breaths and spiked nerve impulses. But what he felt as he struggled wearily to his feet was purely emotional and could not be easily touched, witnessed, or soothed.

Peter knew. The scathing blast of anger, guilt, and sorrow that radiated forth from Gabriel had the same force as an atom bomb and the magnitude of it almost took his breath away. He felt compelled to reach out to him, to try and offer some sense that he wasn't alone, but Gabriel tersely waved him off dismissively as he stumbled away, weighed down with a burden of immeasurable grief that he wanted to bear alone. Peter placed his hands on his hips and squinted as he watched Gabriel wander off into the blazing light of morning, wondering what he would do or where he would go. Moreover, he wondered if he would ever see him again or if he would actually follow through on his implication that he would take his own life. Gutted by grief as he was, it seemed a likely possibility and it worried him deeply because of them all, Gabriel had the motivation and the means to succeed. He was a man who learned from his mistakes. He failed once, but he wouldn't fail again.


	22. On Second Thought

**A/N: So this is it. Thanks for tagging along! As always I appreciate all who reviewed, favorite marked and otherwise. It has been fun, Cheers!**

**Chapter 22- On Second Thought…**

It took Gabriel nearly two weeks to find his way out of the desert that Peter dropped him in and he spent many long days simply laying flat on his back staring at the sun, his parched and chapped lips as cracked as the hardpan he laid on, desperately hoping he could somehow die either from dehydration, or by chance be picked apart by opportunistic vultures or drug into a cave by a coyote. But as the sun set and the night brought a bone chilling coldness to the bleak landscape, his burned skin invariably healed, his blindness cured, and his luck persisted as nothing ever came for him. Perhaps the animals that survived in the harsh environment sensed the evil that encompassed him and wisely stayed away. It was just as well, his regeneration would only serve to make him a modern day Prometheus, his muscles and organs dutifully replaced only to be consumed again and again. He was finally found by a group of hikers and taken in for a time before he grew tired of them and once more set off on no particular course so long as it was in the opposite direction of the wasteland he came out of.

During that time, Peter sent him occasional text messages until his battery went dead, wanting to know if he was still alive. He scoffed at the empath's persistently worried nature and ignored them. Yes, he actually considered killing himself, but in the end he decided it would be a futile statement because ending his life wouldn't bring Jenna back and as devastated as he was, he was still undecided as to whether or not he wanted to continue living or not. There was no rush to decide either way, so he stumbled through each day in a purposeless haze, not committed to either option. If the situation presented itself he might take it, but he wasn't exactly going to go looking for it.

Peter didn't give up so easily. He returned to New York after seeing Gabriel off and he relayed the events that led to his disappearance to Claire. Perhaps it was his own sense of guilt that even given all his skill he couldn't save Jenna, but he couldn't stand by and allow more tragedy to be added to travesty. Gabriel hadn't responded to any of his text messages, so he threw down the gauntlet and gave him an ultimatum. He typed furiously on his phone with a grim expression. _I understand you want to be alone and that's totally cool, just tell me you're ok and I promise I won't come look for you. You have 1 hour. _

Gabriel took only 6 seconds with a response that communicated his incredulous irritation amazingly well given the total lack of words. His reply was a simple: _…?_

Peter smiled at his screen. It was so Sylar he could almost see his eyebrow raised mockingly paired with his menacing smirk. _Ok. Just check in from time to time, alright? It's all I ask._

_You are not my mother, Peter, but whatever._ Although he didn't call Peter or send any text messages, he did occasionally snap a picture of some random building, work of art, or happenstance visually interesting scene that caught his attention and sent it just to keep him off his back.

Three years had passed since Jenna's death, but Gabriel still felt as though the wound in his soul were still just as fresh and raw as the day she was taken from him. He had been unable to completely turn away from her and yet he couldn't make himself seek comfort from those who would have gladly given it if given the opportunity. He had spent the years moving restlessly from town to town, lingering in dark alleys, spending hours seeking solace in libraries and museums, and in and out of the beds of many women in the hopes of finding some fleeting sense of relief from the somber shadow that perpetually cloaked him. With each new pretty face he did find a few moments of contentment, but even in the deepest throes of passion he knew that it wasn't real and it wasn't the same type of deep and abiding love that he missed so much. They all loved him for various reasons be it his dark and brooding presence, his sophisticated charm, or his abilities that he made no effort to hide. One perceptive woman saw him for the damaged man he was, but even as he lay on his stomach tangled in the bed sheets in the early afternoon after a long session of lovemaking and she gently drew languid circles on his back that made him sleepy, he could only think about how temporary it all was even if he did decide to stay and be her project to attempt to fix and heal, which he didn't. He left her in the middle of the night without explanation because he didn't really have one to give.

It was only a matter of time before the last grain of sand slipped through the crack and simple exertion of will was no longer sufficient. He felt like an addict, shameful but ultimately remorseless as he stood over his victim in the middle of the woods of Oregon, the light and cold drizzle of the night muffling the cries of the desperate woman who begged for her life from the mysterious dark featured stranger. He hadn't taken a life in nearly 60 years, but to him time had no meaning and the process was so instinctual he didn't have to think about it. Her dying shrieks were heard only by the tall pine trees that surrounded them and after he had procured her ability, he gave her only a parting glance over his shoulder as he turned to go. Like any addict, the hit was soothing and effectual, but it didn't last. She was not to be the last although he did try to curb his impulses so as not to entirely give over to his gruesome side.

He eventually found his way back to the only place he ever considered to be his home, New York. He never asked him to, but Peter quietly and faithfully saw to his apartment under the assumption that he would someday return. He paid the bills, sorted the mail, and generally kept the place tidy, always careful not to move any particular object so everything was exactly as he left it. Indeed, even as he shut the door he immediately noted the book he had been reading just prior to meeting Peter for dinner laying upside down on the coffee table to keep his place and the shirt he intended to wear before changing his mind still draped over his neatly made bed. He knew Peter had been there by reading the imprints he left behind on objects he touched in his absence, and the extreme care that he used made Gabriel smile slightly because it didn't matter. Peter could have left the place to fall to ruin because he had no intention of staying. He only came for one thing and he found it in the back of his closet.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the worn and crumpled little shoebox that rested in his hands. The bright blue box was the remnants of a pair of white sandals he bought Jenna when she was about three years old. Despite the diminutive size of the box, what it held was monumental in terms of the most important memories of his life. He sat there for several minutes while he got up the courage to open it and examine the contents because while some of the artifacts would bring a smile to his face, just as many would only serve to remind him of the failure he felt: failure to protect her, to save her, and his regret of once more returning to the monster he used to be.

Without her, he had no reason to fight his own nature as he did for so long if only for her sake. Still, he couldn't shake the vague sense of guilt he felt as though he had somehow let her down. He didn't go to her funeral because despite all the dry runs he had with the funerals of others he knew, practice didn't make perfect and he just couldn't abide the idea of the finality of it. He couldn't be the one weeping uncontrollably in the middle of the room of people who were there to say goodbye. How could he even explain his presence or grief that was well beyond what a friend or coworker was to have to those in attendance? He rationalized it to himself that he didn't want his last memory of her to be her lying in a casket, or even in her hospital bed while the machines lived for her. He preferred to think of the woman Peter pointed out standing on the sidewalk, smiling up at her son as she talked with him.

He opened the box and sifted through the items it contained. His fingers brushed across the cool metal of his slave bracelet and he smiled bitter sweetly. It reminded him of a very dark period of his life, but it also held good memories of Maria and even the day that Jenna found it made him smile. It was a tense moment for him to have to live up to the fact that he was indeed a slave at one point, but it was also a catalyst for him to grow closer to his daughter by putting his experience in perspective for her. Claire was right; even though it was frightening for him to admit to any shade of weakness, doing so helped her better understand him and appreciate his sometimes incomprehensible idiosyncrasies.

He removed the photograph she took of him holding Ethan at the hospital and he stared at it for quite some time. Even though only his chin was visible, it was easy to tell he was beaming down at the little bundle in his arms. He was so conflicted, afraid that she was making the same mistakes that led to his own miserable experience, but he had to admit that perhaps he was mistaken. Although he didn't agree with her initial plan, she did provide Ethan with a stable life that seemed to have helped him fully grow both intellectually and emotionally. He wasn't sure he was ready to be a grandfather and he recalled the constant awkward mix-ups that happened every time he and Jenna were out in public together, but he was glad that they worked out a plan that allowed him to watch Ethan grow up even if it was at a distance.

He shuffled through the note that Stephanie had attached to her basket, an acceptance letter to college, and old report cards. Finally, he removed the yellowing and crumpled bit of paper in the bottom. He carefully unfolded it and looked over the finger painting she made for him on her first day of school, the whole scene just as chaotic as he found it the first time she presented it to him. The sandpit might as well have been blood after all, but even after all those years he still felt his heart swell with love at the sight of the amateur work of art.

He gingerly replaced all the items and closed the lid to the box. He thought back to the first day of their life together and how panicked he was at the prospect of having such a huge responsibility, but he quickly adapted and changed into something approaching a competent father, or so he liked to think. He smiled faintly as he remembered watching her nap on his chest, the weight of her tiny body pressing gently down as he breathed. He often wondered what she would become and found himself in awe of her potential. He remembered dancing with her when she was four, slowly spinning in circles to classical music while she looked up to him, smiling and laughing as she stood on his shoes. Even the period when she raided his bathroom for hair gel made him chuckle in retrospect because only after the fact did it dawn on him that she wasn't stealing it out of need per se, she wanted it because it was his. Maybe it was his failing as a father that he never really lavished her with gifts, but that wasn't the way he grew up. He only had the necessities his mother could afford aside from the rare treat, so it wasn't immediately clear to him that the occasional flower or trinket was so important to her, but her constant theft should have been a sign for him that she wanted to have things that were associated with him even if they were ill gotten.

He laid the box on the coffee table where Peter was sure to find it. He quickly scribbled a note in his neat handwriting that instructed him to guard it for safekeeping, but to never open it. It wasn't that he was ashamed of anything the box held, he just wanted to add a layer of itching curiosity to see if Peter could resist the temptation. His guess was that he could and it made him smirk. Only Peter could hold such a thing potentially for years and never crack the lid only because he was told not to. He took one last look around the apartment he would never set foot in again. Leaving all his belongings behind was just easier than living with her memory in the space. Even the stunning view across the river was painful because the iconic skyline was his home, yet it only reminded him of her. Manhattan was where she went to school, it was where they lived for the first half of her life, where the museums and parks they frequented were, and the little neighborhood ice cream shop where they shared life one spoonful at a time. He loved the city and all the anonymity it offered, but he knew he couldn't stay.

He rode the subway toward the airport in late evening, glancing down at the one way ticket to Phoenix he held. He planned to stay a few days and then jet off to some other city in search of somewhere he could call home again. He certainly spent enough of his time cooped up in a cabin in the woods and baking in the desert to know that complete isolation was the wrong kind of anonymity for him, so he planned to stick to good sized populations until he found one that offered enough comfort to settle down for awhile. Wherever he eventually landed, it wouldn't be New York, but hopefully it would suffice. The lights in the brightly lit interior would occasionally blink as it rocked him back and forth and his eyes wandered across the gang graffiti that was etched into the windows and scrawled in the walls in marker. Under one of the seats rested the half wrapped remnants of someone's cheeseburger, the ketchup and mustard drying into a caked mess. The car was remarkably empty save a small group of African women chatting amongst themselves in a foreign language and a tired old man who's head bobbed in a fitful nap as the stops passed by. At the far end of the car was a young man hunched over a hefty looking book that rested in his lap, his chin balanced in the palm of his hand as though he were deep in thought and a rumpled backpack at his feet. Gabriel sat up and took interest because it was none other than Ethan.

Ethan had a sandy colored five o'clock shadow to match his slightly messy honey colored hair and brown eyes. He looked as though he hadn't slept in awhile and he yawned widely, but never lost focus of his reading material. Gabriel hadn't seen him since Jenna's passing, but he looked much the same save for a wiser, more world weary aura that spoke of a loss of innocence. It made him wonder what his life had been like. It couldn't have been easy for him to go on without his mother, and surely he knew by now that Carlos wasn't really his father, but although his physical injuries had healed it was apparent that something of the experience remained. Timid wasn't quite the right word to describe the vibe that he was putting off, but he didn't have the same self-assured posture that Gabriel witnessed right before the accident either and it worried him because to a predator like himself, it made him an easy mark.

The subway train stopped and the women exited while another group of young men got on, laughing and joking with one another, but it was easy to tell that the humor was malicious rather than good natured. One of them turned to Gabriel and looked him over with a scrutinizing stare as if to size him up or intimidate him. Even though it was not custom to make eye contact with anyone on the subway, Gabriel stonily glared at him to send the crystal clear message that if he was looking for trouble, he would surely find it if he were to be trifled with. Wisely, the young man looked away and whispered something into one of his compatriot's ears as he shook his head. The group turned their focus to harassing the sleepy old man before moving to the end of the car toward Ethan.

"Hey, Esse." One of the men laughed, kicking Ethan's shoe to get his attention. "Hey bro, you a librarian or something?" His friends roared in laughter, which only encouraged the instigator on. "Hey man, check it. Let's see what Einstein's got in his backpack." He swooped down and scooped it up with a menacing sneer.

"Give it back." Ethan demanded, unamused with the group's antics. "There's nothing in there you want."

"Well, let's just see." He taunted, rifling through the pockets. "Oh! See bro, I found something I want." He held up a small diamond on a silver chain while his pals cheered for his find. "Your girlfriend's gonna be pissed 'cause she ain't getting it. It's mine now."

Ethan sprang to his feet, his heavy book making a resounding thud as it fell to the floor. "Give it back!" He demanded fiercely as he reached to snatch it out of the thief's hand. It was his mother's necklace and he was desperate to get it back.

"Whoa, esse." One of the others warned as he pulled a knife from his pocket and held it to Ethan's throat. "Don't be a hero, man. Is it worth dying over?"

Gabriel had seen enough and although he didn't think the kid actually had the balls to cut Ethan's throat, one wrong sway of the train car could end in disaster. "Perhaps you should ask yourself if stealing it is worth dying over." Came his low, menacing voice from behind. "Give it back to him and get off at the next stop."

Even though Gabriel towered over the young men, they had a reputation to protect and they weren't used to being challenged by bystanders. "Hey guys, Superman is here to save the day." The leader laughed. "Why don't you mind your fucking business and go sit down before you get knifed, bro."

He sighed patiently and reiterated, "Let me tell you now that it won't happen. Give the necklace back and go pretend to run the city elsewhere." He narrowed his dark eyes and raised his eyebrow for a mockingly sarcastic effect. "If you insist on proving your manhood, just know it won't end well for you or your pathetic little army."

"You gonna take us all on, man?" He asked, boldly stepping up to his challenger. "Your skinny, punk ass gonna take us all down? Shit, man. Tell you what, esse. I'll just pretend you're drunk and you can walk away before we beat the shit out of you and put you up in a hospital. What do you say, man?"

Gabriel smirked as he glared down at him. "I say you're going to need some more friends." He raised his hand to yank the necklace from the kid's grasp with his telekinesis before quickly pulling the knife away from Ethan's throat and sending it clattering to the other end of the car with a twitch of his finger. "Now," he growled threateningly, closing the miniscule gap between them, "what were you saying about you and your buddies?"

"Fuck you, man." The young man sneered as he and the group slowly made their way toward the doors like a huddled group of frightened lemurs. "We don't fuck with freaks."

Gabriel cocked his head and stretched his arms wide to grasp the poles on either side of the car, forming a very real physical barrier between the group in front of him and Ethan behind. "As well you shouldn't." He growled. "The next may not be as merciful as I am and drop all of you dead where you stand." He could have done that very thing with Damian's ability, but it seemed like overkill. He felt that they had experienced enough to give them pause when choosing their next victim. The old man gave him a toothless grin and a thumbs up for his efforts, but he remained in his protective stance until the doors opened and they nearly knocked one another over in an effort to be the first to escape. After the train started to move again, he turned to Ethan and held out his hand, the silver chain dangling from his long fingers.

Ethan gave him a grateful smile as he retrieved his mother's necklace. "Thanks, man. You don't know how much this means to me. They could have taken anything else and I wouldn't have cared, but this belonged to my mother. I took it to a jeweler to have the diamond reset. She wore it all the time." He smiled sweetly down at the sparkling diamond in his palm. "It's so weird, she had telekinesis too and here you are to save the day." He chuckled as he shoved the precious item deep into his pocket for safe keeping. "She always used to tell me that I had a guardian angel who watched over me and I guess tonight it was you."

He smiled at the irony of the sentiment and gave a small nod in acceptance of his gratitude.

Once his prized possession was returned and the crisis was over, he finally took a good look at his hero's face and his eyes narrowed in vague recognition, prompting Gabriel to arch his eyebrow expectantly. "I'm sorry." Ethan laughed, realizing that he was being a bit creepy. "You just look like someone I used to know." He knew from his own mother that some people had abilities, and it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that his favorite babysitter could have had one as well. He paused and cautiously asked, "You aren't a regen, are you?" Gabriel just stared at him and once more Ethan shook his head in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. You step up to help a stranger and here I am questioning you. I don't mean to be rude. I watched you use telekinesis, so you probably wouldn't be a regen too."

"It's ok." Gabriel graciously afforded as he stooped to pick up his discarded textbook. He read the cover with a sense of delight. "Physics?" He asked intrigued as he handed the heavy volume back to its owner.

"Yeah," Ethan demurred, stuffing it into his backpack as though it were a source of embarrassment to him, "I just started college at Columbia."

"Good school." He commended, secretly impressed. "What are you studying?"

"Well…physics." Ethan laughed awkwardly.

"Of course." He nodded as he took a seat across from his grandson. "So what drew you to it?"

Ethan looked as though he were debating whether or not he should tell the stranger his life's goals, but he did sort of owe him. "I know it sounds kind of lame," he quietly explained, "but my mom had telekinesis. People all over the world have various abilities and no one has bothered to explain how it works beyond some genetic information. But I want to know how it actually works. How she," he paused and gestured almost reverently to his savior, "or you can move objects at a distance. I think the most likely answer is in physics. After I get out of college, I plan on attending MIT and working on it. They have a pretty good program up there."

"Sounds interesting." He genuinely granted.

"I mean, don't you want to know how your ability works?" He asked almost desperately. "How it is you think about moving something across the room and it just does? There has to be some mechanism for it."

"Surely there is." He cautiously agreed. "I would prefer to think that there is a logical explanation over it being the casual result of voodoo or demon possession, but knowledge such as that can be devastating if the wrong agendas adopt it. As with all scientific discoveries, it isn't the knowledge that is the problem, it's the application. Einstein and Oppenheimer never imagined that nuclear technology would bring death and destruction to so many, and heroin was intended to ease the pain of illness and injury. The chemist that concocted it couldn't have predicted the pandemic of addiction that followed. If the mechanisms of abilities are parsed out, it could open an avenue for unforeseen exploitation and potential abuse."

Ethan seemed to consider his warning seriously. "So you don't think I should try to figure it out?"

Gabriel smirked as he stood to get off at the approaching stop. "I think you should do what you think is right. You seem to have a reasonable grasp on reality. Just be careful who you share your discoveries with or it could have very serious consequences for people like me." He advised grimly.

Ethan watched the man go and almost as an afterthought, he yelled, "Hey! I didn't even get your name!"

Gabriel gave him a mysterious smile and watched as the train pulled away toward the next stop. He pulled the crumpled plane ticket from his pocket and stared down at it, pondering if his destiny really lie in Phoenix. He couldn't see the future to know which way to go, but he was sure of one thing: he was hungry. He stuffed the ticket back into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "Peter," he greeted, not really concerned of what his former nemesis thought of being called out of the blue after so many years, "what are you doing for dinner tonight? I was thinking Chinese."


End file.
